Into the Shadows
by Nastrandir
Summary: HOTU. When Jaiyan takes a commission from an old friend and descends down into Undermountain, she finds far more than she ever bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Bioware's characters, situations, plot etc sadly do not belong to me. The only one I own is Jaiyan._

**Chapter One – Waterdeep**

Two days out of the forest, and the wind from the north was sharp and laden with the scent of snow. Huddled in a patched cape that probably needed burning more than it needed mending, Jaiyan gripped the reins in her cold hands and urged her post-horse on. Her fingers were icy within her damp leather gloves, and she had lost all feeling in her toes what seemed like hours ago.

The post-horse snorted beneath her, shaking out his loose mane. Dumpy and brown, the horse seemed quietly happy to stamp methodically along the narrow trail while his rider wished she had been less stingy with her choice of paid mount.

"You're not exactly the world's most stirring steed, are you?" she mused. She reached forward, patted the base of the horse's neck. "It's alright. I forgive you. As long as we get to the city by nightfall."

The horse flung his head up and whickered reproachfully.

She had lingered too long in the north through the autumn, and had found herself wasting time and coin in some no-name village deep in the forest when the first snows had fallen. She had woken, head heavy from a night of rowdy drinking, and discovered that the village was coated white, six inches deep. Remembering exactly why she hated the cold, and the snow – despite all the months she had spent in Hilltop, or perhaps because of them – she had planned to leave as quickly as possible.

And, in striding out of the inn door, had walked smack-bang into a man clad in the colours of Waterdeep's messengers. After a quick interrogation, she had learned that the summons came from none other than The Yawning Portal – another tavern, and one of her favourites, if she were forced to choose. A hasty choice and an exchange of copper had seen her out of the forest and down the slender, winding trail that dipped and rose through rough crags towards the Waterdeep road.

Which had seemed an admirable and exciting decision, at least until that brutal north wind had come shearing down from the forest and turned her nose blue.

Jaiyan sighed and leaned back in the saddle. No matter how many times she rammed her heels against the post-horse's flanks, he kicked up no gait faster than an uneven trot. _Maybe next time I'll demand some snarling stallion with smoke curling out of his mouth_, she thought wryly. Still, the brown horse was dependable, and had slogged consistently all day, despite the cold and odd flurry of snow tumbling down from grey clouds.

The horse raised his broad head and snorted. Jaiyan followed his gaze, saw that the road switch-backed between tall, raised pillars of rock, descending towards a vast spread of roofs and arches and towers and spires.

Waterdeep, City of Splendours, with the sea glittering beyond. Lamps glowed along the waterfront and torches rose at the gates and along the city walls. Behind the city, the pale sun sank slowly, arcing down towards the rippling sea.

Jaiyan sighed, suddenly happier. She threaded her fingers through the horse's mane. "Well, oats for you and ale for me, I think. Just get us there before it gets much colder."

The brown horse flicked his ears back and plodded on, tail lashing. The trek down towards the coast proper stole the better part of two hours, and Jaiyan shivered as the wind wailed between the high rock chimneys. By the time the city gates reared into view, flanked with torches and guards, the sun was well past the horizon, and the night air was vicious. She gave the bored-looking guards a crisp nod, silently praying they would not detain her with questions.

Not that she had anything to hide; she carried little beyond a pouch of coin, her sword, two spare daggers, a bedroll, and her clothes. But the air was bitter, and she was certain the tips of her fingers were about to drop off, and there was a tankard in The Yawning Portal with her name on it.

The guard barely shrugged in response, so she gathered up the post-horse's reins and tried to look brisk. The brown horse lumbered through the gates, and she heard the sounds of the city she admitted – if only to herself – that she had missed. The horse's hooves rang against the cobbles, and she tipped her head back, looked up at early stars framed by towering spires.

She found a courier's stable not far from the gates, and with wry reluctance dropped the horse off. She gave the horse a quick rub to the face and ordered the skinny stable boy to treat him nicely and produce the promised oats. With a final pat to the horse's broad nose, she headed off into the lamp-lit darkness, her sword slung at her hip and her legs aching.

Five long, looping streets at a smart-paced walk, and she finally felt the twinges from three days riding start to ease from her muscles. Instinctively, she knew the way to The Yawning Portal – past the temples, through the very edge of the merchant district, and back up to where the broad-fronted shops finally gave way to wide avenues and tall houses. And there, with the main door flung open and warm light flooding out, was the tavern. Even crossing the cobbles, she could hear the noise from within – laughter, conversation, raucous shouting. _Everything a tavern needs on a cold night,_ she thought, smiling.

With her breath pluming around her, Jaiyan laid one hand on her sword, and ducked under the lintel. Heat and sound hit her first; the blaze of warmth from the fire, the talk of the patrons; and then the familiar noises of tankards clinking, of footfalls against creaking floorboards.

She wove a quick path through the tables nearest the door, making her way to the bar and the fire. The tavern was heaving, she noticed, and, now that she was inside, she realized the chatter and laughter had a nervous, taut edge.

Something was not at all right.

Admittedly, the summons had called for help, for adventurers; but for an entire taproom of drinkers and roisterers to be coiled with tension? That, she did not understand.

Very carefully, she slipped between two bulky men who looked like soldiers, and laid her hands on the beer-sticky bar.

The innkeeper had his back to her, was busy filling two huge tankards. "Anything I can get you?"

"Expensive ale for an old friend?"

The innkeeper turned, and his creased, tired face stretched into a smile. "Jaiyan! What brings you here, missy?"

She shrugged. "Oh, nothing much. I just happened to bump into a messenger, up in High Forest. He tells me help is needed in Waterdeep, and that the message comes from The Yawning Portal, no less. How could I stand by and look on after hearing that?"

The innkeeper laughed. "Well, I have to admit I didn't expect you. Thought you were headed for warmer climes."

"The City of Splendours, Durnan," she said wryly. "It keeps calling me, it seems. I never got much past the snowline, got bored, and came back. It all seemed a bit…purposeless."

Durnan shoved the foaming tankards across the bar towards two waiting patrons, men clad in leather armour and balancing spears over their shoulders. He turned back to Jaiyan, leaned over the bar. "Well, I can give you a purpose. Not a safe purpose, I'll grant you."

"The messenger was tantalizingly obscure. Help needed, no details."

"Yes, well." Durnan sighed. "Let me get you a drink, and I'll tell you all about it."

Jaiyan waited while he poured her a tankard of dark, rich ale, and followed him to a small table, half-hidden in a narrow corner. There, with her cold hands wrapped around the tankard, and Durnan sipping at spiced wine, she listened.

"Been a while, now," he said slowly. "You know why the tavern's got its name?"

"You told me," she answered. "There's some portal or other in one of the back rooms. Big stone thing, opens down onto a shaft that leads right down into Undermountain."

"Right." Durnan nodded heavily. "Undermountain. You know its run by a mad wizard, Halaster?"

"Yes. Retreated down to his own personal playground, am I right?"

"Yes. Halaster always kept to himself, doing his magics and his experiments. Didn't like to think much of it, but still, he never bothered us." Durnan sighed. "Problem is, Halaster's Undermountain opens onto the Underdark proper."

Jaiyan gripped her tankard tighter. "I don't like where this is going."

"No. Something's happened down there, and I don't know what. Maybe drow attacking from underneath, maybe something's happened to Halaster. I don't know." Durnan shrugged helplessly. "All I know is, drow have been seen in Waterdeep. They've been seen in here, in the tavern itself. They come out at night, and they kill people."

Jaiyan gulped on the ale. "Drow?"

"Drow, indeed. Whatever was stopping them before is not there, and they're in the city some nights."

"What does it mean?"

"Mean? I don't know. What do drow want, ever?" Durnan leaned back in his chair. "Conquest. Killing. Whatever they want."

"And that's what the call was about?"

"Yes. I needed adventurers foolhardy enough to venture down into Undermountain, and perhaps into the Underdark itself, to find out what's going on down there. And how much danger Waterdeep is in."

Jaiyan loosened her grip on her tankard. She looked up, into Durnan's tired dark eyes. "Well, foolhardy I do quite well. Drow, though, and the Underdark…"

"I know." Slightly guilty, Durnan shrugged. "Look, missy, you don't have to do anything. Just stay the night, and have a few drinks on me."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? Tell me something that terrifying and interesting, and expect me to walk away? Who do you think you're talking to, Durnan?"

"Someone mature and sensible, obviously." Durnan smiled. "I'm sorry to have dragged you into this."

"No, you're not." She lifted the tankard, and the ale flooded across her tongue, warming. "Give me somewhere to stay, and you're on. Tomorrow, I'll head on down and see what's happening."

He nodded, quietly impressed. "There'll be allies for you. We've had a few people come in, declaring themselves heroes."

"Really? You let me think I'd be all alone." She smirked. "Who've you got?"

"Come and meet them, and then you can talk about it." Durnan's smile turned sly. "And we've got an old favourite of yours, came into the city a few days ago."

She frowned, not understanding. "Who?"

"Go into the common room next door, and see if he's finished deafening my customers yet."

With a sudden, bright smile plastered across her face, Jaiyan grabbed her tankard and kicked away from the table. Not caring who she jostled, she elbowed her way through the crowd, and under the big archway to the adjoining chamber. To where, sitting perched at the hearth, was a small kobold. Lute in hand, with his clawed fingers raking out notes from trembling strings, he stumbled his way through a high-pitched song about a knight facing off against a snarling dragon. His tail beat time against the hearthstones, and his small, black eyes were closed as he sang.

Jaiyan made it to the mantelpiece, stopped as he finished. With his gaze downturned, the kobold twisted the pegs on his lute and sighed.

"Nice tune," Jaiyan said, softly.

The kobold jumped bolt upright, his tail snapping out wildly. His clawed hands wrapped around the lute, and he stared at her, unbelieving. "Boss?"

"Hello, Deekin." Jaiyan crouched down and wrapped her arms around the kobold's small, reptilian frame. "How are you?"

"Singing, Boss," he answered, simply. He tipped his head on one side. "Deekin wonders…"

"Yes?"

"Deekin wonders…" The little kobold scuffed a foot against the hearth. "If Boss is here to go down into Undermountain, can Deekin come too?"

"Deekin." Jaiyan looked firmly at him. "You came here to answer Durnan's call for adventurers, yes?"

The kobold nodded.

"Then it seems that I shall be the one coming with you." She reached out, touched his narrow face. "If you don't mind."

"Of course Deekin not minds! Now, Deekin can write second book about Boss."

She grimaced. Terrible memories of the kobold writing down _everything_, from her every expression to the state of her smallclothes to her last snarled obscenity came to mind. "Wonderful. Now, come and have a drink with me. And we can talk about what we want to do next."

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Deekin sat with his feet swinging above the floorboards, his hands clasped around a cup of spiced wine. Opposite him, Jaiyan started in on her second tankard. "So what have you been up to, Deeks?"

He shrugged lightly. "Writing lots of songs. Singing to humans."

She laughed. "Been enjoying yourself?"

"Sometimes." He shifted uncomfortably. "Not always, Boss."

"I know." She sighed, understanding. He was still, above all, a kobold. "Know anything I don't about Undermountain?"

"Big maze down there, Boss. Mad wizard gots lots of things, monsters and things, running around."

"What do they do down there?"

"Deekin not sure. Maybe eat each other."

Jaiyan laughed. "What about the drow?"

"Drow might eat each other, too. Deekin read plenty about drow elves, just not ever met any."

"Neither have I." She tipped the tankard up, let the ale slip down her throat. "I suppose we'll find out. Who else answered Durnan's call?"

"Adventurers." Deekin nodded. "Big half-orc from Neverwinter and some others."

"Neverwinter?" Jaiyan arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess. They all claim to have helped the Hero of Neverwinter get rid of the plague?"

"And save Neverwinter from ancient lizards."

She leaned her chin on her hands. Given that Deekin would usually describe her previous adventures as _getting turned into stone and then beating up a medusa in a floating city_, she wondered about the truth. "I never heard much about that. There was a war involved, yes?"

Deekin nodded. "Where was Boss?"

"In Hilltop, getting shouted at by Drogan for not holding my sword properly."

The little kobold clicked his teeth thoughtfully. "Other adventurers having big meeting in the morning. Decide how to be heroes."

"Well." She drained the tankard. "I suppose we should be there with them, yes? Show them what we can do?"

"Deekin has plenty of parchment, so Deekin ready for anything."

She reached out, patted the little kobold's hand. "Good. Look, I'm going to see if they have hot water in this place. I'll see you tomorrow, yes?"

He nodded furiously. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

"Don't go without Deekin this time."

She stepped past him, squeezed his shoulder on the way. "Promise."

Upstairs, she accosted a maid and asked for a bath. After being assured that nothing was too great a request for one of Durnan's adventurers, she found herself ensconced in a small, serviceable room overlooking the waterfront. She pulled the curtains closed, blocking out the glittering sea, and turned with a weary smile to the wooden tub.

She dumped her packs and weapons on the floor by the bed, stripped off her clothes. Uncaring, she let them fall onto the sheets, kicked her boots off. Gingerly, she lowered herself into the steaming water, let the heat work its delicious way into aching muscles and tired skin. She combed a hand through her hair, tugged the ties free, and let her tresses spill loose in the water.

She had missed Deekin, she realized. Since they had both slogged back from the wide, burning deserts of Anauroch, and had parted in Waterdeep, she had missed the little kobold's voice and presence and incessant note-taking. And even, if she confessed to no one but herself, his absurd singing. He had blundered into her life one snowy evening near Hilltop, and had welded himself inescapably to her and her path. He had been there when the caravan had broken down in the desert, and they had ventured off into stinger nests. Had stood beside her when the great cities of the Netherese had risen from the dust and had been there when they finally confronted the sorceress, Heurodis, who had been a medusa.

Jaiyan dragged herself out of the tub, scattering water droplets across the floorboards. Wrapping herself in a huge towel, she collapsed onto the bed. With one foot, she kicked the pile of loose clothes onto the floor and burrowed beneath the sheets, still damp, her hair straggling across the pillow. Some part of her considered tidying her things, and maybe drying her hair, and cleaning her sword, but sleep was beckoning, and she slipped into strange, dark dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: still the same, still don't own Bioware, but I do own Jaiyan. And this chapter gets a little violent, so warnings for that.  
_

**Chapter Two - Decisions**

_Tall, high caverns arched above her. Her feet crunched against gravel and stone. Somewhere far away, the sound of dripping water. She looked down at herself, saw that she was entirely naked. Some part of her mind informed her that this was simply a dream, and that she should not worry. The air against her bare skin was cool, and her hair was wet, spilling over her shoulders. _

_Before her, a dark opening, leading into shadow. She stared, shook her head. "I am not going in there."_

_"Why?" A female voice, low, throaty and accented. "Because you are afraid?"_

_"Because I was always told that a girl shouldn't walk under dark archways when she's naked."_

_"Indeed. Wise words."_

_Jaiyan turned, stared into the encroaching darkness, saw nothing. "Who am I talking to?"_

_"Turn around."_

_She obeyed, found herself staring at an obsidian-skinned woman. She was undeniably beautiful, if the tilt to her head and the fire in her crimson eyes was unsettling. White hair cascaded down her shoulders, held back from her angular, thin face with a jagged black crown. "You're a drow."_

_"Well-spotted." The woman sounded amused. "And you are an adventurer."_

_"Call me a hero at least. Sounds much better. Makes me seem less likely to die the next time I get ambushed by orcs."_

_The drow woman arched a snowy eyebrow. "You are a strange one, surfacer. Perhaps we will meet again. Though I very much doubt it."_

_Something tickled the back of Jaiyan's mind, that she should turn away from the drow woman and run, and return to herself. This was no normal dream. "Why?"_

_"You will see, surfacer. You will see."_

Jaiyan snapped her eyes open. She searched the room, could see nothing stirring in the shadows. Still, uneasiness prickled at the nape of her neck. The gloom seemed too deep, too thick. She reached down onto the floor, groping for her sword hilt. Her fingers scraped along the floorboards.

_No sword. No clothes_.

She froze, tried to slow her breathing. Something flickered in the corner of her eye, and she flung herself out of bed, landed hard on her knees. The sheet drowned her, slowed her as she tried to make it to her feet.

A dark, lithe shape barreled out of the shadows. Jaiyan saw the glint of magic, burning around the point of a knife, and the flash of white hair. She threw herself sideways, snapping the sheet at her attacker. In the same motion, she lashed out with her feet, connected with leather and solid flesh. Her attacker gasped, and then she was lurching away as the knife scythed down, embedding in the floorboards.

She flipped over, punched blindly, felt her fist slam against skin. Her attacker twisted away, but Jaiyan followed, locking her arms around a slim waist. She heaved backwards, bringing her knees up into the back of her attacker's legs. The slender body she held thrashed and writhed, snarling words she could not understand. Jaiyan wrenched, ended up on top of her attacker, pinning the smaller figure onto the floor. One dark hand reached out, scrabbling for the dropped knife.

"Oh, no, you don't." Jaiyan drove an elbow into her attacker's throat, was rewarded with a hissed, cut-off breath. She dived over narrow shoulders, snatched up the knife. Turning, she smashed her fist against her attacker's face again, and plunged the blade to the hilt at chest-level.

Her attacker juddered, and she heard whispered, harsh words. Jaiyan dragged the knife up, slicing through skin and leather armour, and felt the hot gush of blood.

The door crashed open, and Jaiyan whirled, tearing the knife free.

Framed in the doorway, not another assailant, but Tamsil, Durnan's young daughter. And behind her, hopping madly from one foot to another, was Deekin. "Is Boss hurt? Is Boss alive?"

Tamsil stared. "Are you alright?"

Jaiyan lowered the knife, suddenly aware she must look a fright, naked and splattered with blood. "Yes. Yes…I'm sorry. I must look terrible." She reached out, wound the sheet around herself. "I…got attacked."

Tamsil nodded nervously. "I can see that. My father…didn't think it would happen. Not here."

"It's happened elsewhere."

"Noble houses," the girl said. "People turning up dead. Their possessions and weapons taken from them, killed by a single knife-thrust."

Jaiyan glanced at the still-flaring knife. "Yes, well…is everyone else alright?"

"Yes, I think so. Do you need anything? Bandages? Potions?" Tamsil's hands twisted together shakily. "Should I get my father?"

"No." Jaiyan pushed upright. "What time is it?"

"Near dawn, my lady," Tamsil answered. Her soft green eyes darted, trying not to look at the blood or the knife. "I'm so sorry that happened."

"Don't worry about it. Just…could you get me some clothes?" She scanned the floor quickly, saw that she had been right, that her belongings were missing.

Tamsil ducked her head. "Of course. Right away."

While Durnan's daughter darted off, Jaiyan beckoned Deekin into the room. "What did you hear, Deeks?"

He scuffed one foot. "Deekin was on his way downstairs, when Deekin and pretty girl heard noises coming from Boss' room. And not good noises to be heard coming from someone's bedroom."

Jaiyan laughed helplessly. "Thanks for that."

"But Deekin not see any drow downstairs, so Deekin not knows how drow got in."

Finally, Jaiyan turned her attention to her dead attacker. Drow indeed, small and slender and female, clad in supple leather armour. Red-streaked white hair spilled over narrow shoulders, and the woman's elegant hands were twisted together. "I had a dream about a drow."

"This drow?"

"No." Jaiyan studied the dead woman's feline briefly. "No, not this one. The one I dreamed about was far more…powerful, somehow."

A shadow slanted through the doorframe, and Durnan emerged, his face creased with concern. "Missy? Are you alright?"

She gave him a tired smile. "I came off best."

Durnan eyed the dead drow. "I never thought it would happen in here. Not tonight. I am so sorry."

"Stop gushing. I hate apologies." Jaiyan tightened the sheet around herself. "Just loan me a sword, and we'll call it even." She glanced up, to where pale light lanced in between the curtains. "Go and round up the rest of your adventurers, and we might as well talk about how to go about finding Halaster."

Durnan nodded briskly. "As you say. Will you be wanting breakfast?"

Her eyes strayed back to the blood on the floor, and the cooling ebony skin of the dead drow. "Oh…I'm not so hungry. I'm sure Deekin could do with some sustenance, though. He looks like he's wasting away."

Deekin's head perked up. "Deekin always make time for breakfast."

While Deekin pattered out after the innkeeper, Jaiyan rocked back on her heels and waited for Tamsil. She took a moment to study the dead drow's face, her closed eyes, her sharp cheekbones. Long, pointed ears fringed with thick white hair. The woman was beautiful, in that svelte elven way. The dropped knife lay with the tip facing away from her, and she could see the elegant, unsettling designs carved into the hilt.

Footsteps creaked against the wooden floor, and she turned in time to see Tamsil, arms laden with fabric. "I found you everything I think might fit you."

Jaiyan nodded. "Thank you."

After sorting through Tamsil's offering, she chose leggings, a shirt, and well-worn leather armour and boots, all in dark colours. Gloves that fit close enough followed, along with a dark cape. Feeling uneasy without a weapon, she went in search of Durnan's armoury. There, amid heaps of wrapped crossbows and stacks of arrows and propped up halberds, she found a serviceable, plain-looking longsword with matching dagger.

She buckled the blade to her waist, tried not to let her mind drift to the sword the drow had stolen. It had never been a particularly prepossessing weapon, was more functional, with its faded leather-wound grip and dull black pommel. Still, it had been the sword she had brought with her from Hilltop, and carried far into the sands of Anauroch, before the edge had found its way through Heurodis' throat.

Shoving such thoughts away, she marched briskly through the door and made for the stairs, leaving the blood and dead drow woman behind her.

Downstairs, she found the common room empty of normal patrons, and the air thick with tension. Durnan paced before the roaring fire, arms crossed and a thunderous scowl on his face. Around the table sat an odd collection of people that Jaiyan assumed were others brave or foolish enough to heed the summons.

"Good. You're here," Durnan said gruffly. "I don't think you've met everyone?"

She shook her head, leaned on the edge of the table. "Haven't yet had the pleasure."

She regarded them, saw that the first was a tall, broad-shouldered half-orc. His solemn, brown eyes were touched with a certain wariness. "Daelan Red-Tiger," he said quietly. He indicated the woman sitting next to him. "This is Sharwyn."

Jaiyan nodded, flicked her gaze along to the next, a pale, pretty elf. "My name is Linu," the elf woman explained. "We were just speaking of the attack. You were not injured?"

"No. But I did lose all my things."

"You did?" Sitting beside Linu, a wiry-looking halfling howled with laughter. "Easy mark, were we? Drifting off in happy little dreams?"

Jaiyan glared. "You try taking on a drow assassin stark naked and weaponless."

The halfling raised his hands and grinned. "While that _is_ an interesting prospect, I prefer the idea of _you_ doing it, since you seem such an expert."

Jaiyan was about to growl a vulgar retort, but Durnan grasped her elbow. "Enough, please. Tomi, watch your mouth, and missy, keep your temper under wraps."

The halfling shrugged amiably. "Anything for an old friend. Tomi Undergallows, by the way, girl."

With a wry smirk, she reached out, grasped the halfling's hand. "Please tell me your second name is a prophecy."

"Not yet it isn't." He cocked an amused eyebrow. "Come and sit, and let's pretend to be friends."

Grudgingly, Jaiyan found a spare chair and slumped into it. "Sorry, Durnan."

Durnan inclined his head. "You all know why you're here."

"Halaster the mad wizard," Tomi cut in. "We all know that. How much do we get for the job, though?"

The innkeeper fixed him with a frosty stare. "Payment upon discovery of what in the Nine Hells is going on down there. You might be here for the coin, but my tavern opens onto a shaft that goes all the way down there. All of Waterdeep could be in danger, halfling, and you're whining about payment."

Tomi shrugged, unoffended. "What counts, counts."

"If you're not averse to suggestion," Durnan continued, ignoring him, "I think you should go down together. Safety in numbers and all that. We don't know what's in Undermountain."

"Mazes," Deekin chirped from his poise on the far end of the table. "Mazes and traps and monsters."

"And you'll keep a sentry at the portal?" the big half-orc inquired.

"Yes. Night and day." Durnan opened his mouth to say more, and the door behind was flung open, letting in a white-faced kitchen girl and sudden, billowing smoke. The girl kicked the door closed again with her foot, raked down a deep breath.

Jaiyan leaped away from the table, her hand going to her sword.

Durnan grabbed the girl's shoulders, tried to calm her. "What is it? What's happened?"

"The portal room…" The girl trembled, twisted against his hold.

Jaiyan heard footsteps, running light and fast against the floorboards. Somewhere close by, a scream, and the dull throb of magic.

Daelan Red-Tiger pushed up from his chair, his hands wrapped around the haft of a huge double-headed axe. "Into the portal room! Now!"

The girl shook her head madly. "No, you can't! There are…there are drow."

While the others launched away from the table, Jaiyan glanced to Deekin. "Spells ready?"

The kobold's hands were already moving, the air whining and flashing between his fingers.

With Daelan Red-Tiger in the lead, they hurtled for the door. Jaiyan hung back behind Sharwyn and the halfling, not wanting to charge blindly through. Daelan stepped up the door, spun his war-axe in huge, gauntleted hands.

And the door crashed inwards, spilling drow into the room.

With a tremendous sweep of his war-axe, Daelan decapitated the first through on his side of the door. He side-stepped fountaining blood and pressed on, driving another drow back with the flat of the axe. Arrows whipped past him, embedded in the doorframe.

More drow darted past him, running quick and quiet. Jaiyan braced herself, and hated that her mind wandered, even at this most inappropriate moment. She watched the drow glide over the floorboards, and was reminded of hunting cats, or striking snakes. She snarled to herself, and swung her sword up as a drow warrior lunged at her, twin shortswords flashing in slender hands.

This drow was male, she realized, lean and wiry and with braided-back white hair. _And he's pretty_, some absurd part of her mind supplied. She sighed and dodged his attack, sweeping her blade around and under both of his. Her sword crashed up against his, jarring. Shamelessly, she slammed her elbow into his jaw, kicked him in the stomach when he staggered, and drove her sword into his chest. When he slipped limply off the blade, she spun around. And saw, slightly disgruntled, that the others had mopped up the rest of the drow, leaving only blood and scattered bodies.

"Hah. Good reflexes you got there, missy." Tomi nodded amiably at her while he cleaned his knives. "Did better than I thought, for a scrappy little human."

Jaiyan glared good-naturedly. "Sterling praise."

By the door, Linu knelt beside Durnan. Suddenly worried, Jaiyan hurried across with Deekin hopping after her. "Durnan?"

The innkeeper lay on his back, a great swathe of blood patching his shirt. "I'm fine," he ground out. "Dagger scraped my ribs. Had worse shaving."

Jaiyan grinned. "Whatever you say, old man."

Daelan Red-Tiger swung his axe across his shoulders. "Do you hear that?"

Jaiyan cocked her head, listening. "No..?"

"The portal room," Durnan said. "It's open."

"Then we go there now." Without waiting for discussion, the big half-orc strode away through the door with Sharwyn and Tomi on his heels. Linu followed suit, her hands still glowing with pale healing magic.

"No, wait!" Jaiyan surged after them, but Durnan's cough stopped her. "Idiots," she sighed. "Are all adventurers so block-headed?"

"Takes one to know one, as they say." Durnan grimaced and levered himself up on his elbows. "What will you be doing, lass?"

"You got a proper healer here?"

"Aye, that we do. White Thesta, her name is. Vain as a courtesan, but knows her trade well, she does."

"Good. Then you get Tamsil to help you upstairs and get that looked at." Jaiyan sheathed her sword. "And we will be heading down to the portal room. Right, Deeks?"

Deekin nodded briskly. "We be ready to fight evil where we find it, Boss."

Durnan grunted. "Well, steal yourself any supplies you might need on your way out, missy. And take care of yourselves, you hear me?"

"You know us, Durnan. Sharp as tacks and twice as clever."

Durnan raised a greying eyebrow. "Well, get on down there and prove it. And don't you dare come back if you're hurt or dead, you hear me?"

Jaiyan grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it. Now get out of here. You're bleeding all over the floor."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three – Descent**_

The platform swayed as Jaiyan worked the pulleys, lowering deeper into cool, musty darkness. The air seemed muffled around them as the platform sank deeper into Undermountain, and tasted stale. Beside her, Deekin peered over the edge.

"That be a very long way down, Boss."

Never one for heights, Jaiyan shuddered. "Yes, thank you."

"Maybe if Deekin fell, Deekin be light enough to not break bones."

"Well, maybe we could test your theory."

"Boss be playing cruel tricks on Deekin."

"Maybe a little."

Jaiyan cast a quick glance over the brink of the platform, saw jagged rock formations lifting out of the gloom.

Prior to leaving, she had ransacked the pantry at the inn, and shoved in a bottle of brandy along with the bread and the cheese. A handful of fresh parchment for Deekin had been purloined from Tamsil. Along the way, she had found a Rod of Resurrection, one of those strange magical devices that made her skin prickle. Still, she had promised Durnan to see if she could find or help the others, and she suspected that any trouble they may have run into in Undermountain would not be simple.

The platform bumped into solid rock, and Jaiyan lowered her arms at last. A brief glance at their immediate surroundings showed high stone walls, curving overhead. Tall rock columns ahead half-hid an elaborate set of iron gates, flung open and with only darkness visible inside.

Jaiyan shifted the weight of her pack and breathed in slowly. The air seemed motionless, and the silence oppressive. "It's too quiet."

Deekin shrugged. "Too quiet better than too loud with hordes of screaming drow."

He had a point, but she still scanned the gloom warily. Sword drawn, not wanting to resort to torches yet, she crossed uneven stone to the looming gates. "Halaster's private playground. You ready, Deekin?"

The little kobold yipped his assent. "Pen and crossbow at the ready, Boss."

Jaiyan smiled and stepped under the twisting metal gate. Beyond, the shadows seemed thicker, and the sound of her footsteps changed. She looked down, saw marble flooring, white streaked with black. She paused, listened to the silence for a long moment. The thought hovered maliciously in the back of her mind, that she was literally and figuratively out of her depth, but there was of course only one way to find out. Unwilling to back down from any challenge – be it an ale-drinking spree or a quest involving probable death – Jaiyan steeled herself and stepped further into the darkness of Undermountain.

The trek through Halaster's mazes proved grueling. Drow war parties skulked in the shadows and ambushed before fleeing into the darkness; other creatures, set free in the chaos, lumbered from the muffling gloom to attack the strange surfacer arrivals. A quick search of the first level had raised neither hide nor hair of Halaster himself, and only the horrible suspicion that something had happened to the wizard.

They found Sharwyn and Daelan Red Tiger, the former dead, and the latter injured. The Rod of Resurrection and a loaned healing potion set the pair of them back on their feet, along with a request to tell Durnan that Undermountain had at least been safely breached.

Snatching a few moments of respite, hiding in the corner of an old, forgotten room, Jaiyan and Deekin sat silently, huddled around a tiny fire. The kobold hummed softly to himself, while Jaiyan cleaned drow blood off her sword. Her knuckles were scuffed and bleeding, her shoulders ached, and she decided she had already had enough of drow and the dark and their sneaky backstabbing attack tricks. "I hate this already."

"Hate what, Boss?"

"This. The dark. The way the air doesn't move properly. Gods, we haven't been down here two days, and I already miss the sun."

Deekin shrugged philosophically. "Boss hates everything at some point."

"I…" She snapped her mouth shut. "I do not."

"In the desert, Boss hated the heat. In the mountains, Boss hated the snow. In the flying Netherese city, Boss hated flying Netherese cities."

She rammed her sword back into its scabbard. "First watch for that, Master Kobold."

Another day of walking and avoiding scouting drow took them circling ever deeper into Undermountain. The stone walls changed, became darker and somehow denser, and the drow they encountered seemed ever fiercer. After three hours of trailing their own footsteps through maddeningly similar corridors, Jaiyan unleashed her anger on the next drow raider party to attempt an ambush. Somehow – probably through blind, stupid luck, she later reflected – they found the right path and meandered their way further down and further in.

After a particularly punishing skirmish with a small group of drow, they discovered Tomi and Linu, both of them dispatched by the same drow. After their brisk resurrection, Tomi admitted that all he knew of Halaster at present was that the wizard was indeed missing; captured by the drow perhaps, but for what purpose, who knew. Following a handshake from the halfling, and a hug from Linu, they parted ways, with Jaiyan wondering how far she and Deekin would make it before finding the same kind of nasty death.

On what was probably the end of the third day, they uncovered a narrow passageway that led down at a sickeningly steep angle. Scrambling down, and trying to stay noiseless despite scattering gravel, they emerged into a vast, echoing cavern. Tall rock chimneys reared up into featureless darkness, and far away, water roared.

Jaiyan advanced forward cautiously. "Deekin? You see what's different?"

"No corridors. No doors. No pathways."

"Yes. So is this still Undermountain, or have we just stumbled down into the Underdark proper?"

Deekin shrugged. "Don't know, Boss. Never been to the Underdark before."

Jaiyan smiled. "Don't worry, Deekin. Me neither."

Something shifted in the shadows nearby. Jaiyan whirled, her nerves on a knife-edge after three days of clashing with drow patrols. Her sword flashed out, and she nearly threw herself at the small, slender figure crouching beside a rock column.

"Wait!" The figure unfolded, all lithe lines in the darkness. "Don't attack. I'm a friend."

Breathing hard, Jaiyan glared down her sword blade at a slim, long-haired drow female. "A friend? You're a drow."

"Yes. And I can help you." The female held her hands out, beseeching and unarmed. "You're looking for Halaster."

Jaiyan did not lower her sword. "Yes. What do you know?"

"Halaster has been captured by drow warriors who are servants of the Valsharess." The drow female stepped forward. "They are keeping him not far from here."

"Why do they want him?"

The drow shrugged. "Because with Halaster not in Undermountain, everything is chaos, and the way up to the surface is easier."

"What's a Valsharess?"

The drow female shook her head. "Not now. There is little time. If I help you, will you continue on to Halaster?"

Jaiyan regarded her, took in the trim build and thick, white hair. The drow was beautiful, if wary and somehow austere. "Alright. But I want some answers after that."

The drow nodded. "Very well. Halaster is being kept north of here. Find the passageway directly north, and it will take you there."

"How many drow?"

"A dozen." The drow female glanced back over her shoulder. "I have to go. I will meet you there and help you."

"Thank you." Not entirely trusting her, Jaiyan nevertheless lowered her sword slightly. "What's your name?"

The drow paused, half-turned. "Nathyrra."

Deekin nudged Jaiyan's elbow as the drow female vanished into the shadows. "Boss?"

"Hmm?"

"Think pretty drow lady really be a friend?"

"Well, drow don't seem to be in the habit of diplomacy if a knife in the back will do the same job." Jaiyan shrugged uneasily. "I don't know. We'll see. If she's not, then…"

Deekin nodded silently.

Further ahead, they found the passage Nathyrra had mentioned, and no sign of the drow female herself. Not liking the idea of smaller corridors riddling the stone walls, pathways she could not see and would likely never find, Jaiyan shivered. Moving nearly soundlessly, she could almost hear Drogan's voice, gruffly berating her for being foolish enough to venture somewhere she knew so little about.

_Like I knew anything about Anauroch,_ she thought sourly. _And the heat. And the scorpion-man-monsters. _

Still, she missed the old dwarf, and often felt a certain, twisting pang in her chest if she was tired, or drunk, or just generally maudlin.

"Boss?"

She paused, staring ahead. Following Deekin's gaze, she saw the rock walls converging overhead, and a dark gash in the stone ahead. Her throat constricted; she had no wish to slip through that gap and into the unknown. "Gods, am I even going to _fit_ through there?"

"Yes," said Nathyrra quietly. Seeming to detach from the shadows themselves, the drow female dropped down from a ledge in front of her. "I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you."

"I'm fine. Nerves of stone-cold steel." Jaiyan smirked uncomfortably. Her heart was thumping, and she was suddenly very aware of thousands of tons of rock above her head. "Can all drow crawl along walls like spiders, or is it just you?"

Nathyrra gave her a sharp look. "I had a look ahead. Twelve drow, like I said, and Halaster. He's chained by some magical means."

"What kind?"

"I don't know, but he can't move. Three lines of light, spiraling out from him."

Jaiyan sighed. "Are they attached to anything?"

"What?"

"The lines of light."

"Rocks."

"That would be the anchors, then."

Nathyrra tipped her head to one side. "You study magic?"

"No. But I'm good at hitting things, and it sounds like hitting these rocks is the best way to break whatever it is that's holding the wizard." Jaiyan grasped her sword hilt pointedly. "And before we charge in there, I want to know what a Valsharess is."

Nathyrra's expression tightened. "We do not have time."

"Look. I'm already in over my head. There are some things I need to know, if only for my own peace of mind." Jaiyan drew her sword slowly. "What's a Valsharess?"

"The Valsharess is a Matron Mother," the drow female snapped waspishly. "One who has come into great power and has many allies. She sees it as her gods-given birthright to extend her influence over not just her House, but all her allies and servants, the Underdark itself, and even the world above."

Jaiyan exhaled sharply. "Doesn't like to play nice, I take it?"

"No."

"And Matron Mother is….what, like a queen?"

"Yes, surfacer," Nathyrra said. "Something like that."

"Alright." Jaiyan shrugged. "That'll do for now. Are you going in first, or am I?"

"I will. Follow quickly. Once they see us, there won't be much time for discussion." Enviably elegant, Nathyrra slid through the gap ahead.

Jaiyan gritted her teeth. She was committed, unequivocally, to Durnan and her strange new ally both. And yet the thought of worming through that tiny fissure made her skin crawl. "Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Think we'll live?"

"Don't know, Boss. But Deekin will write Boss a nice song if Boss dies a nasty death."

"You warm my heart." She swallowed and steeled herself. _Now or never. Do it._

Turning side-on, she forced herself through the breach in the rock, wincing as rough edges scraped against the backs of her thighs. A moment of muffling, horrible darkness, and then she was through, in a large, domed-roof cavern.

Immediately crouching, she darted forward, hearing Deekin's light footsteps behind. She saw Nathyrra, poised up ahead, daggers unsheathed in both hands. The drow female nodded ahead, directing Jaiyan's gaze past a jagged outcropping, to where the ground sloped steeply down. She saw drow warriors, facing away from them, clad in serpentine black armour.

_This is insane. Are we actually going to charge a group of drow who'll see us as soon as we start running?_

"Nathyrra," she muttered, "I'm not sure this is the best plan…"

But the drow female was already gone, snaking forward, her footfalls fast and eerily silent.

Jaiyan snarled. "Deekin, start shooting!"

Nathyrra veered off, launching herself soundlessly at the first drow. She catapulted into him at chest height, driving him to his knees before plunging her daggers into his throat.

Jaiyan kept running, aware of the shouts around them as the drow turned. Up ahead, the air was thick with the metallic tang of magic. One quick look showed her a tall, robed figure much further down the slope, flanked by glowing yellow lines. At matching intervals around him stood heavy, humming slabs. The figure watched the chaos through bored, half-lidded eyes.

"Stop them!" A lean, wiry drow soldier leaped at her, sword in one hand and dagger in the other.

Gritting her teeth, Jaiyan ignored him and barreled on. A crossbow bolt arced in from behind and thumped into the drow's side, knocking him back two paces. A second bolt punched into his skull, and he collapsed.

"Nice shot, Deeks!" As more bolts whirred around her, keeping the drow back, Jaiyan grinned madly. Somewhere to her left side, she saw Nathyrra moving like oil, slipping past a drow soldier's flagging guard and ripping her daggers across his neck. In the same motion, Nathyrra shoved the soldier away, jumped over him, and flew at her next target.

"Boss! Wizards!"

Jaiyan looked up. At the foot of the slope, three drow mages, their hands crackling with waking magic. White light burst from the first mage's spread fingers, and she dodged sizzling slashes of lightning. Another arrow of light took out chunks of stone behind her heels. She rolled desperately to one side, and a magic missile spell roared overhead, scorching her tunic. A crossbow bolt snicked past, inches from her head, and tore past the mage's outstretched hands and into his chest. While he slowly toppled, spitting blood, Jaiyan threw herself at the second. She dodged a plume of flame from his fingers, bulled forward, and drove the pommel of her sword against the drow's chin. He stumbled back, already muttering the words of another incantation. She did not give him a chance to finish, and instead batted his hands aside and slammed her sword between his ribs.

A shadow swooped over her, and she whirled around. Fire rippled between the last mage's hands, and she ducked in time to hear the drow give a strangled scream. She peered up, saw a crossbow bolt embedded fletching-deep below his collarbone. She looked over her shoulder, grinned her thanks at Deekin.

Straightening up, she gave the area a quick survey, saw Nathyrra sinking her daggers into the last drow soldier. She strode across to the trapped figure, looked him up and down. He was bony beneath the fall of his moth-eaten robes, and the lank hair on his high-domed head was disheveled. "You're Halaster?"

He gave her a raking stare. "You aren't the one I expected to see. But since you've helped me, you might as well go free."

She lowered her sword, did not sheathe it. She did not like the dark gleam in the wizard's rolling eyes. "How did you get captured by the drow?"

"Set me free and then you'll see."

Possible ally or not, Halaster was an archmage, powerful and dangerous. Still, she had little choice, so she chopped at the three stones surrounding him until they cracked, and the bright lines snapped into nothing.

Halaster raised his hands, and the air whined. White sparks exploded, and Jaiyan flinched back as _another Halaster_ appeared, swathed in smoke. She looked from one wizard to the other, bewildered. _Mad mages_, she thought dismally. _That's all we need._

Halaster looked indignantly at his double. "Finally you're here! What took you so long? I was beginning to think something was wrong."

_And he's speaking in rhymes. Gods, let this day be over soon_. Jaiyan glanced to the wizard's copy, saw the identical features crease in exasperation.

"Since we're both clones, you should know why I'm late," the double said. "To lure out the Matron, I used you as bait."

Deekin edged up to Jaiyan, nudged her elbow. "Boss? Why there be two of him?"

"I'm not sure, Deeks."

The second Halaster fixed a deep-set glare on her. "A wonderful trick. A brilliant trap. She had only to come, and then we would…"

"_Zap_," the first copy supplied helpfully.

"You _let_ yourself be captured?" Jaiyan demanded.

"But you meddlers ruined my plan by freeing my clone," the first wizard snapped. "And now the Valsharess won't come out from her home."

Jaiyan bristled at that. "Hey, look, all we did was…"

"Wait a moment, my identical friend," the second copy interrupted. "You seem somewhat confused, and I want it to end."

While Jaiyan watched, utterly bemused, and Nathyrra briskly cleaned her daggers, the twin wizards argued and snarled over which of them was the original. Jaiyan sighed and exchanged a rueful look with Deekin. "Utterly insane, you think?"

Deekin nodded solemnly. "Why he want another of him? Boss want another Boss?"

"Gods above, no. I'd argue with myself too much." She glanced back at the quarrelling mages. "Perhaps this is a lesson to be remembered." She sheathed her sword, let the metal ring. "Ah, gentlemen?"

Both Halasters glowered at her. And then horrible, identical smiles split their faces. "We can settle this later, just one on one," the first said.

"But the Valsharess must suffer for what she has done," the second added.

"Someone must get her, make her pay for her crime."

"I'd do it myself but I don't have the time."

The first Halaster raised his hands again. A whispered word of invocation, and the air shimmered between his hands. He looked in Jaiyan's direction, and her skin prickled uneasily. Another murmured phrase, and her flesh felt turned inside out, stabbed with hundreds of needles.

She staggered, and the blood drained from her face. Her stomach roiled with nausea, and she felt Deekin's hand on her elbow, steadying her. Heat chased cold across her cheeks, and she heard nothing but the pounding of her pulse in her head.

"Boss? Boss, are you alright?"

She blinked hard, trying to clear her oddly cloudy vision. Her skin crawled as if drenched in cold water, but her temples ran with sweat. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine." She leaned heavily on Deekin's proffered shoulder and glared venomously at the wizards. "What in the Nine Hells did you just do to me?"

Halaster – one of them – smirked. "Nothing much, just a spell to make sure you obey. I put a geas upon you. It's better this way."

Jaiyan gulped down a raking breath. Her tunic and leathers clung damply to her, and her heart hammered. She could feel Halaster's spell, twisting somewhere behind her sternum. "A geas?"

Halaster's grin widened. "Down to the Underdark you will now go. You're working for me now, so you can't really say no."

She may have been no true scholar, but still, she knew the power of a geas. A compulsion, laid into the flesh of another by a mage of great power. A compulsion that would force the bearer to do the caster's will, or else risk a painful, wasting death. "So I have to defeat the Valsharess, or I'll die. That's what you're saying."

Halaster's eyebrows rose. "You have no choice but to do what I say. Once the Valsharess is dead, my spell goes away."

Jaiyan swallowed back a vicious retort. "So you'll help in any way at all, or I am going to be stumbling around blindly?"

The mages raised their hands, muttering something in unison. "We'll send you down in the dark to join the Seer, and hope you win, and lose nothing dear."

Pale light crackled out from the mages' fingertips, swirling around her. She reached out blindly, grasped Deekin's hand. On her other side, Nathyrra grabbed her wrist. "The Seer?" she repeated. "Who's the Seer?"

"Foolish adventurer, there is no time," Halaster snapped. "Now get down there, and avenge her crime!"

Magic erupted from the mages' hands, and Jaiyan felt her vision upend, twist, and utterly disappear.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer is the same, everything and everyone is owned by Bioware except Jaiyan. _

_And a huge thank-you to everyone who's reading and reviewing this story!  
_

_**Chapter Four - Cursed**_

There was wind, screaming in her ears, and the wrenching sensation of the floor vanishing. Her stomach turned over, and she heard blood pounding in her head. Suddenly the mist before her ripped apart, and she was falling, tumbling through white light.

White light that slowly changed and darkened, becoming a hard-looking black marble floor.

Jaiyan saw the floor looming, crossed her arms over her head and swore. She crashed down face-first, and briefly reflected that maybe she should have worn her pack backwards. She cracked an eye open, and saw Deekin's feet, excitedly bouncing up and down in front of her.

"Boss? Boss? Are you alive?"

Jaiyan dragged herself up onto aching elbows and made herself look around. She was abruptly aware of the clamour of drow, swirling around her. Male soldiers in black and red armour, waving swords and shouting loudly. Beside her, looking enviably elegant after the plunge through Halaster's portal, Nathyrra tried to motion them back.

Deekin pawed at her sleeve. "Get up, Boss!"

Jaiyan groaned and staggered to her feet. Around her, the drow soldiers gasped and pointed. "Nathyrra?"

She looked across the sea of white drow heads, losing Nathyrra among them. She blinked the grit from her eyes and tried to focus on the chamber around her. Black floor, black walls, black pillars, all adorned with curling, eerie metal shapes.

She heard shouting, voices raised in near-panic. "Protect the Seer!"

A sudden whirlwind of motion bulled into her, slamming her back into a pillar. She choked, glared through startled eyes at - _not a drow_, she realized. He was….what _was_ he? He was tall, that much she understood, from the way he towered over her. And he was pale, in the manner of someone who never sees sunlight. His eyes were blue and fierce, his features angular. His hair was swept away from his profile, and was a startling shade of scarlet. Jaiyan found her gaze wandering along his hair, until she saw the two horns that curved up from his head. He was not a man; or not entirely.

And he had a knife pressed against her throat. His other hand clamped against her shoulder, pushing her back against a pillar.

"Get off me," she snapped. _Don't look at his horns. Don't look at his horns. _

He frowned, and she noticed that his eyebrows were as scarlet as his hair. His grip on her shoulders and neck did not relax.

"Valen!" Nathyrra, materializing through the crowd again, clasping the tall man's forearm. "Valen, it's alright. She's with us."

"Very well." As quickly, his hands loosened, and he stepped away, ignoring her entirely.

Jaiyan rubbed at her throat, scowled as she felt raised welts.

"I'm sorry." Nathyrra shrugged apologetically.

"I'll live." Jaiyan yanked her tunic straight, looked around again. With panic averted, the drow soldiers stood at guard, shoulders rigid, their eyes blank and uninviting. The chamber she was in was huge, she realized. The high, domed ceiling was scrolled with unsettling metal shapes, and the marble floor was polished, ink-black, swimming with light from the pale torches above.

"Come. You must meet the Seer." Nathyrra gently took her arm, steered her across the floor, to the raised dais at the far end.

Standing on the second step was a drow woman, slender and beautiful. Her delicate face had a somehow ageless cast, and her drow eyes seemed softer than most. "Nathyrra. It is good to see you again. And this must be…"

"This is Jaiyan," Nathyrra supplied.

"And Deekin," the little kobold piped in.

A faint smile touched the Seer's mouth. "It is good that you are here at last."

Jaiyan frowned. "Look, I really don't mean to be rude, but…what is going on exactly? And why do you need me?"

The Seer nodded. "There is no offence given in such a question. Perhaps you would care for some refreshment, and a little privacy, and we can talk."

Jaiyan folded her arms. Something in the Seer's tone touched her, some soft hint of desperation. _But that doesn't mean I'm going to break my back for people I don't know_, she thought firmly. "Alright," she said. "That sounds like a start."

The Seer led her through corridors with black walls and pale, flickering torches. The air was warm, close. Jaiyan shifted, not comfortable with the uneasy recollection of thousands of feet of solid rock somewhere above. Up a set of twisting stairs, and the Seer motioned her into wide chambers. Here, with open windows and small candles, and a welcome cool breeze, Jaiyan felt a little more relaxed. She followed the Seer to a table, smiled and nodded as the drow woman offered cold wine and bread. "Thank you."

The Seer filled two cups. "Now. What has Nathyrra explained?"

"That the Valsharess seems to think she has a claim on the whole of the Underdark, and by extension, Undermountain, and the surface world above."

"That is certainly true. She would take first Lith My'athar, destroy those of us she sees as traitors, and then move on to the surface. To Waterdeep."

"Why?"

The Seer tilted her head, seeming to look through her. "Because we do not follow Lolth. We follow Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden. She who dances in the moonlight in the surface world above. She who sometimes cares to grant me visions. Visions of prophecy, of the future."

"Oh, yes?" A hint of skepticism threaded through Jaiyan's voice. "Visions about what?"

"You," the Seer answered quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"You drifted into my dreams some time ago, Jaiyan." She tilted her head, studied her visitor carefully. "You travel far. Have done so, in fact, since you left a small village, far to the north of Waterdeep."

"Well, yes, but that's the same for any number of people."

The Seer smiled faintly. "You wandered a while after you left your home, and made your way to a slightly bigger place called Hilltop, far in the frozen north. There, you apprenticed yourself to a dwarf warrior named Drogan. He, it seems, was a Harper, and like all Harpers, kept secrets. These secrets led you to a white dragon named Tymofarrar, a woman called J'Nar, the kobold you still travel with, and the far eastern deserts, where the ruins of Netherese cities still rot. There, you fought a sorceress called Heurodis, who was also a medusa."

Jaiyan nodded slowly. The skin between her shoulders felt cold, tight. "I'm tempted to ask if you read Deekin's book."

The Seer's smile warmed. "No, not yet. Oh, and…your mother's name was Maranna, and your father was a farmer. You had an elder sister, who ran away when she turned fourteen, and you have not seen her since."

"Alright, stop!" Jaiyan shook herself. "Now that you've scared me silly, I'm listening."

The Seer lifted the pitcher, topped up Jaiyan's cup. "I did not mean to terrify you. I only wish to explain that these visions, while sometimes clouded, are always true."

"And what clouded but true vision do you see for me here?"

"Ah…the future. I see the Valsharess and her army, many hundreds of them. I see Lith My'athar, and I see our walls defended, by you. I see the Valsharess pushed back, by you." The Seer's eyes seemed wider, somehow vacant. "I see pain and danger, and the cold. I see courage almost lost. I see blood. But I also see victory, at your hands."

Jaiyan laughed nervously. "That's…maddeningly vague."

"Yes. But as events happen, as things progress, such hints of prophecy are often made all the clearer."

Jaiyan sighed. "So you want me to stop the Valsharess."

"You will have help," the Seer said quickly. "Anything you need from Lith My'athar. Weapons, food, a place to stay. We have scouts and wizards and fighters."

"Would Nathyrra help, do you think?" Jaiyan felt suddenly at a loss; presented with a whole city to rifle through for allies, she had no idea where she might start.

"Of course," the Seer answered. "And Valen, if you ask him."

"Valen? The man with the red hair?"

If the Seer noticed her guest's sharp tone, she did not remark upon it. "Yes. He can be difficult, but he is a great warrior. Honourable and loyal. He has saved us here many times."

"So he's going to love that you've given me the run of the city," Jaiyan remarked dryly. "Well, I'll ask him. He looked big enough to be useful in a fight."

"You'll find him at the practice grounds," the Seer offered. "May I take this to mean you will help us?"

"Yes," Jaiyan said slowly. "But you have to understand something as well. You know of Halaster, yes?"

"The mad wizard in Undermountain. Yes, of course."

"I went down into Undermountain because an old friend of mine put out a call for adventurers. His inn is one of the oldest in Waterdeep, and has a shaft that drops straight down into Undermountain. Sometimes, things go down, but nothing usually comes back up." Jaiyan shrugged. "But lately, things _have_ been coming up. Things like drow."

"What..?" The Seer blinked luminous, huge eyes. "Already the Valsharess attacks the surface?"

"With small groups or assassins only. But, yes. So we went into Undermountain to see if we could find Halaster. And we did find him." She leaned back. She did not entirely want to tell this fragile-looking woman the entire truth, that she was coerced by the burn of the geas in her head, and that she had not decided yet whether she would willingly help these people. _These drow_, her thoughts briskly informed her.

"And?"

"And he wants the Valsharess out of the way as well. Apparently she is interfering too much for his liking. He tried drawing her out, but we blundered in like good little heroes and ruined his plans." Briskly, Jaiyan explained the altercation with the drow, and Halaster's unwilling rescue. "So his only way of convincing me that this would be a good idea is to put me under a geas."

The Seer's face changed, seemed almost to crumple. "I…did not think anything like that would happen."

"Eilistraee didn't happen to tell you?" Jaiyan bit her lip, instantly regretting her words.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think this would happen." The Seer glanced away. "I did not think you would come to us only to be chained to us. Perhaps you will feel differently, in the future."

"I hope so. Right now I feel tired and angry." She straightened up. "I'll go and see if I can find Valen."

With that, she left the Seer sitting alone with the pale candles. Part of her registered some measure of shame, that she had walked out and abandoned this strange, white-haired leader of a group of rebel drow. But then she remembered Halaster, and how the geas had driven into her and burrowed under her skin like a swarm of hornets, and she was not sure if she could ever like these people and their Seer willingly.

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Jaiyan threaded her way through dark corridors until she found herself back in the main hall. Emptier now, though Nathyrra and Deekin waited for her near the dais steps.

"Boss!" Deekin hopped up to her. "Do we have to go on more adventures?"

"More than you can imagine." She mustered up a smile for him. "Nathyrra, can you show me around the city?"

"Of course." The drow glided upright. "Important places first, like the tavern?"

Jaiyan laughed, entirely unbidden. "Hah. You already know me well. Actually, I need to find the practice fields."

"You want to talk to Valen?"

"Yes."

"About the fact he held a knife to your throat, or..?"

Jaiyan smirked. "The Seer suggested I ask him if he wants to venture out into the Underdark and kill things with me."

"Well, he is good at that. I can give you maps, as well." Nathyrra flanked her as they made their way to the tall, curling double doors. "Perhaps it would be best if first you attacked the Valsharess' possible allies. A drow of her stature could offer much in the way of bribes to the other creatures that live down here."

"What kind of creatures?"

"Beholders, ilithid. Slavers. Duergar."

Jaiyan sighed. "Sounds fun. Do ilithid really eat brains?"

Nathyrra laughed softly. "Close enough. There's an ilithid city, maybe six or seven days from here. It's a slaver city mostly, but there's enough ilithid there that if they were drafted to help the Valsharess, we'd be in trouble."

"And the beholders? How exactly does one go about negotiating with giant floating lumps?"

The drow gave her a wry smirk. "One doesn't, I assume."

She nudged Deekin. "You ever seen a beholder, Deeks?"

"Nope, but Old Master talked about them once. Said they smelled bad."

"Given how bad _his_ cave smelled, was he really in any position to make that kind of judgment?"

"Old Master….what the word be, Boss? Hippo-something…"

"Hypocrite."

Deekin nodded happily. "That word."

Jaiyan glanced at Nathyrra, saw her furrowed eyebrows. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"We know of at least one large beholder nest, but there could be more, of course."

Nathyrra heaved at the doors, and the soft light and warm air and noise of Lith My'athar smacked Jaiyan in the face.

She stopped, feet against the black basalt steps beneath her. "It's _huge_."

And it was. Dark towers and spires, whorled with odd, curling shapes, rearing up into the darkness. Stretching up towards the curve of the massive cavern above. Pale torches everywhere, throwing white light, softening the harsh edges of walls and lines and tall statues. Far beyond the rise and fall of the roofs, the wide expanse of a dark river wound away into the shadowy distance.

She could hear shouting and laughter, footsteps against stone, the clatter of metal; the sounds of a city.

_A normal city_, she thought wryly.

"Are you alright?" Nathyrra asked, tone neutral.

"I've read of the Underdark," she confessed. "But I never thought…"

Nathyrra smiled. "Does it please you?"

"It amazes me," she said honestly. "But you did say there was a tavern?"

The drow woman laughed. "Of course. Now, come. And please forgive any attention you may receive."

Jaiyan nodded silently. She followed Nathyrra down the steps, Deekin pattering at her heels. Smaller buildings here, flanking what looked to be a marketplace. _Yes,_ her thoughts informed her. _A marketplace. Where people buy things and sell things. _

Except here, those people were slender and agile, with obsidian skin and white hair and crimson eyes that flickered and burned. Not sure what to say, she watched as drow bartered for bread, or meat, or silks, or jewels.

Deekin tugged at her sleeve. "There be lots of Dark Elves here, Boss."

"That's because it's a drow city."

"Never seen this many in one place."

"Same answer, Deekin."

"Boss?"

She tore her eyes away from an open-air forge, where a lean, striking-looking drow blacksmith doused a newly-hammered blade in cold water. "Yes?"

"You thinks you stand out here more? Or I do?"

She glanced down at the little kobold. "Probably me, Deeks. Sorry."

Deekin nodded solemnly. "That be alright, Boss. Deekin prefers to stay in the shadows."

Jaiyan snorted. "You're an assassin in the making."

She trailed Nathyrra between the shadows of leaning gables, and past penned herds of squat, pale-coloured four-legged creatures. Beyond, dust rose from a marked-off area where dark-clad drow soldiers sparred with wooden swords. She paused beside Nathyrra, admiringly watching as the soldiers spun and turned and traded strokes with dizzying speed. "They're very good."

Nathyrra lifted one shoulder in a self-deprecating half-shrug. "They have a very persuasive drill master."

Jaiyan looked past the last line of twisting drow recruits, and saw the scarlet-haired man towering over them. He stalked between them, shoulders stiff beneath his tunic, barking out orders.

"He be very tall, Boss," Deekin observed.

"Yes, but that's because drow are short."

Deekin tipped his head to one side. "Pretty drow Seer be taller than you, Boss."

Jaiyan sighed. "Thanks, Deekin. I suppose he _is_ tall, isn't he?"

She let her gaze wander across the man's shoulders, down the line of his broad back as he turned away to reprimand a young-looking drow. Her eyes found his belt, shamelessly dipped lower, and then she gaped. "Ah…why does he have a tail?"

Deekin shrugged. "Kobolds gots tails too, Boss."

"Yes, but he's not a kobold." Jaiyan kept staring at his tail, watching as it lashed impatiently, like a cat's.

"He's a tiefling," Nathyrra supplied. She watched as he turned around, still shouting at the drow soldiers. "And he has the temper to go with his heritage."

"Well, I can shout fairly loud when I get angry, as well." Declining to inquire after an explanation, Jaiyan grinned, and made her way across to where the scarlet-haired man stood, arms folded, watching his soldiers through chipped-ice eyes.

Before she got within four feet of him, he turned sharply. "Ah. You. The Seer's prophet."

"Hello to you as well." She planted one hand on her hip and stared up at him. "The Seer said you might be willing to help."

"Her, yes."

She searched his face, saw nothing but disapproval and coldness. "I have to go out into the Underdark, and cut down one by one those who would support the Valsharess."

Something flickered across his eyes, and she smiled inwardly. _If in doubt, be brutally blunt_, she thought wryly.

"And you want a guide," he said.

"A guide, and a soldier, and help," she qualified. "You look more than capable of handling yourself, and I expect you know these caverns well."

His blue eyes were fierce, never once straying from hers. "I do."

"So does that mean you're going to help me, or should I go?"

He hesitated, not speaking.

"I get it, you don't trust me," Jaiyan said evenly. "If the knife to the throat didn't convince me, the icy silence certainly has. I'm not asking you to trust me. I just want you to help me."

His tail twitched. "Very well."

"Good." She nodded, took one last look at his hooded, very blue eyes. "Tomorrow morning, then. At whatever passes for first light around here."

With that, she spun on her heel and stalked away from him. As Deekin fluttered along behind her, she called out to Nathyrra. "Want to show me to the tavern now?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer applies again - only Jaiyan is mine. _

_**Chapter Five – Lith My'athar**_

Some hours later, Jaiyan sat with Nathyrra at a small table, staring into wreathing blue smoke, and silently concluded that taverns must be the same in every place, on every plane. Simply people, gathering amongst the heat and light and smoke, to drink and forget and while away time. Around her, the drow patrons spoke in low voices, hands clasped around cups of dark, rich wine. Firelight flickered in the far corner, sending shadows rippling over the edges of sanded floorboards, table legs, and Deekin, who was sitting cross-legged at the hearth.

"How long has this rebellion of the Seer's been going on?" Jaiyan asked.

Nathyrra's hands tightened around her cup. "Many months now."

"And all for the fact that you prefer Eilistraee."

"That, and that the Valsharess would own all the Underdark, and the world above."

Jaiyan arched an eyebrow. "Touch of ambition, there."

Nathyrra smiled, but there was something haunted behind her crimson eyes. "There is a kind of…peace here, in Lith My'athar. Some kind of stability. Which the Valsharess could tear apart, should she choose."

"I promise I'm convinced," Jaiyan said. "I'm not leaving any time soon."

"I know," the drow answered softly. "I just wish…I wish you could say that without Halaster's geas on you."

Jaiyan looked away. If her thoughts drifted, she could feel the pull of it, the wizard's curse, hooking thin claws in somewhere behind her ribs, or fluttering at the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry," Nathyrra murmured. "I did not mean to…"

"It's alright." Jaiyan tipped her cup back, let the spiced wine slide down her throat. "Look, while I did not exactly plan to go cavaliering off into the Underdark, I did however answer Durnan's call."

"True." Nathyrra's eyes were still distant, drifting across the crowded tavern, finally lighting on Deekin. "What's his story?"

"Deekin? He's a bard." Jaiyan frowned. "A _very_ enthusiastic one."

"I didn't know kobolds _had_ bards."

Jaiyan caught the eye of a barmaid, sashaying past with a tray of drinks. "Neither did I. I suspect he may be the first. He's a writer as well."

Nathyrra blinked. "You travel with a kobold bard, and you think _we're_ strange?"

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A handful more drinks, and Jaiyan realized the smoke was blurring before her eyes. She leaned back, felt the muscles in her shoulders shift and twinge. "I think I may have to retire. The past three days or so have been rather busy. I woke up and fended off an assassination attempt, trekked through league after league of caverns, got attacked by drow, got cursed by a wizard, and fell onto a very hard marble floor."

Nathyrra smiled. "Of course. I understand. Can you find your way back to the temple?"

"Temple..?"

"The big black building with the very hard marble floor. It used to be the Temple of Lolth here."

"Oh." Jaiyan nodded wearily. "I think so."

"Third floor, you'll find the guest chambers. There'll be servants around if you need anything."

Jaiyan pushed up from the table, which lurched worryingly.

"Boss!" Deekin hopped between the chairs, eyes glittering. "Boss had too much drinks again?"

"No," she grated. "I've just had a very, _very_ long day. You want to go to sleep now?"

Deekin nodded approvingly. "Deekin be tired as well."

"Good. Let's go." With her eyes watering, she led him out of the tavern, and into the cooler air of the city. The lights were dimmed now, and a strange sense of _night_ seemed to cloak the roofs and towers. In companionable silence, the two of them meandered through empty streets, back to the foreboding temple.

Inside, they found grey-clad drow servants, eager to guide them up to the guest chambers. Too tired to bother with formality, Jaiyan simply nodded. "Whichever room's the closest."

"Deekin prefer room with artistic quality," the kobold interjected.

"Well, you can go and commune with your muse. I just want to go to sleep."

"Boss come and find Deekin in the morning, yes?"

Jaiyan patted his shoulder. "Of course. If we're going to be exploring with the help of the less-than-talkative tiefling, then your company will be most welcome."

Deekin chirruped softly, quietly pleased. Jaiyan smiled, watched as two drow servants led him up the spiraling stairs. Already, she could hear him inundating them with questions and curiosity. Half listening, as the little kobold demanded to know if there were dragons in Lith My'athar, she ambled up the stairs after them, pausing at the first open door in the corridor above.

Like the rest of the temple, the walls and floor were polished black marble, lit with white torches. But she discovered that, inside the room, the bed was round and heaped high with blankets and furs, and looked entirely inviting. There were chests piled against the wall, and tables with fruit and wine, and a closed door on the far side of the room. Deciding to investigate these treasures later, Jaiyan shed her cloak and boots, left them as they fell. Uncaringly tired, she let her leggings and gloves and leather armour follow. Clad only in her oft-patched shirt, she climbed beneath soft, silk-lined sheets, and crashed into exhausted sleep, mercifully free of drow and plots and darkness.

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Nathyrra sat in the empty temple, legs crossed, all silent poise. Her eyes lingered on the drift of incense in the air. She had slept uneasily, and woken to find her thoughts returning to the young woman from Waterdeep. This stranger was the Seer's chosen prophet, apparently, and yet she seemed little more than a girl, all wild, ungroomed hair and slightly insincere grins.

Yet the Seer seemed adamant, that this coltish child with her sardonic voice and kobold companion could save them all.

Nathyrra sighed, pushed up to her feet. With soundless footsteps, she approached the altar.

"Do you still doubt, Nathyrra?"

She spun guiltily. "Mother Seer."

The Seer joined her beside the altar, impeccable in white. She said nothing, merely gazed at Nathyrra's downturned features.

Who, as always, buckled beneath such gentle censure. "Of course I doubt," she confessed. "When you spoke of a messiah, a prophet to save us all…I thought of someone…"

"Taller?" the Seer inquired archly.

"Stronger," Nathyrra said baldly. "She seems so _young_. She's…so _flippant_."

The Seer laughed. "So she does not have the grace of a drow assassin. Who else does?"

Nathyrra sighed. "That's not the point, Mother Seer. She's going off into the Underdark today with Valen, and if he doesn't kill her, then a beholder will."

"So he displayed that famous temper."

"Famous sulk, more like. I don't think she even understands what he is."

The Seer's level gaze turned piercing. "I don't think she has to, yet. I suspect she is more than a match for him."

Nathyrra snorted, not quite able to picture their newly-acquired saviour squaring off against the red-haired tiefling. "I suppose she'll have to be. Do you think I should go with them?"

"No," the Seer answered evenly. "Not unless you are asked."

"And if your precious prophet meets her death in some grimy cavern somewhere?"

The faintest flicker of apprehension touched the Seer's face. "Then we must pray that Eilistraee will keep her safe."

Not at all cheered, Nathyrra politely excused herself, and headed up the winding stairs. She knocked at Jaiyan's door, and, hearing no reply, shrugged and opened it.

Inside, she found the young woman who had fought and killed a medusa still tangled half-naked in the blankets, dark hair straggling across the pillows. Nathyrra carefully picked her way between piles of cast-off clothes and belongings, and stood poised beside the bed. With her face framed by black fabric, Jaiyan seemed young and incongruous, her pale skin and wiry, human frame at odds with the very drow surroundings.

"Jaiyan?" Not wishing to startle her, Nathyrra leaned down, grasped her elbow. "Jaiyan?"

The purported hero of the rebel drow mumbled something and tried to burrow deeper into the sheets.

Resignedly, Nathyrra sat beside her and shook her shoulder again. "Jaiyan?"

Jaiyan cracked open one blue eye and squinted. "What?"

"It's morning."

She scowled. "Is it? Can't tell down here."

Nathyrra arched a silver eyebrow. "You're planning to explore the Underdark, remember? With our very own grumpy tiefling?"

"Ah, yes. The man with the red hair." She frowned. "And the horns and the tail. Yes, I remember."

Nathyrra stood, turned away as Jaiyan grudgingly kicked off the sheets. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead," the human woman admitted.

Nathyrra heard cloth rustling, and the clinking of buckles closing. "Good."

"You can turn around now."

She glanced over her shoulder, saw Jaiyan tightening the knots on her leather over-tunic. "How are you for supplies?"

Jaiyan found her sword belt, slung it around her hips. "I'll stop by the marketplace. Where will I find tall, pale and scarlet?"

Nathyrra smiled despite herself. "You will probably find Valen waiting for you outside the temple."

Outside in the corridor, Jaiyan ran smack-bang into Deekin. The kobold was hopping excitedly, and his little frame seemed almost entirely hidden by filled-to-bursting packs. Three of them seemed hopelessly bulky, and she could have sworn she saw a lute, a harp and a flute jammed in between two others. "Deekin?"

"Boss?"

"How in any world can you stand up straight?"

Deekin shrugged, and something clanked. "Deekin be gifted, Boss."

"Obviously. And where did you get all that stuff? I'm almost certain you did not carry all that through Undermountain."

He scraped at the floor with one scaled foot. "Deekin be good at finding things. And besides, tall, pretty drow lady gave me lots of things, too."

"What, the Seer?" Jaiyan sighed. "Does she know what she's done?"

"Done? What Boss mean?" Deekin clacked his teeth.

"Never mind." Jaiyan hid her smile, led him down the stairs. "Guess this means I'm carrying any other supplies, yes?"

"Well, Boss be taller and have broader shoulders."

Jaiyan laughed. "Thanks. Now I sound like an ox."

They found the scarlet-haired man just past the temple steps, as Nathyrra had promised. He stood in profile, gaze pinned on the bustling marketplace, arms folded. Walking beside Deekin, Jaiyan took the chance to quickly study him.

His long hair was pulled back, and she found her eyes wandering from his horns, down the broad line of his back, to his almost motionless tail. She dragged her gaze up, noted that he wore burnished green armour, that the breastplate was whorled with delicate, curling designs. Across his shoulders was strapped a heavy double-headed flail that she guessed would weigh more than Deekin and all his packs combined.

"Are you ready?"

Suddenly presented with him turning swiftly and facing her, blue eyes fierce, she stuttered, "Yes…yes. Well, actually I want to go to the marketplace first. Then we can talk about where we want to go first."

He crooked one red eyebrow. "If you need to."

"Good. Right." _Stop stammering. You already look like an idiot. _She squared her shoulders. "You're Valen, yes?"

He grunted. "Valen Shadowbreath."

_Hmm. Sounds like a charmer. _She nodded too quickly, stepped round him. _I can see we're going to have lots of in-depth conversations. At this rate I won't be able to talk to him long enough to even ask him what a tiefling even is. _

Studiously ignoring her glowering new companion, she busied herself at the market. Somewhere behind vendors selling trinkets and fruit, she discovered a small, long-haired drow girl calling prices on leather armour. When she stepped up to examine the pieces – all dark, shining, and beautifully made – the girl gaped at her.

"I'm sorry," the drow girl blurted. "But you're…the one the Seer spoke of?"

"Apparently so," Jaiyan answered genially. "You have some lovely armour here. Do you think you might have anything that will fit me?"

The girl nodded. "Yes…you're almost our shape. We probably won't have to change much. Could you step round here?"

Jaiyan followed her, noted wryly that the girl's hands trembled a little as she sorted through the hung-up sets of leather armour. "There's no rush."

"Master Valen's expression warns me otherwise," the girl whispered, suddenly smiling.

Jaiyan cast a brief look at the tiefling, saw him standing nearby – no, _smouldering_, she decided, and not in a good way. "Oh, never mind him," she murmured back to the girl. "I need some decent armour, and he can damn well wait."

The girl giggled. "If you need weapons as well, then Master Rizolvir is the best blacksmith in Lith My'athar." She gestured over one shoulder, to where Jaiyan could see the glow of a forge. "What about this one? As long as you don't mind black…"

Jaiyan shook her head. "I think I'm going to spend a lot of time hiding in the dark." She let the drow girl press the armour against her, feeling for her shape and size.

"It's soft, and treated, so you'll make no noise." Briskly, the drow girl pulled the leather tunic over Jaiyan's clothes, tightened the laces and clasps. "It won't stop a sword-thrust point-blank, or the head of an arrow, but there are small enchantments woven into it. It will lessen pain, and help torn flesh mend."

"Thank you." Jaiyan dug in her coin pouch. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh…" The girl blinked, looking flustered. "But you're the one the Seer spoke of…I can't ask you to pay."

"Don't be ridiculous." Firmly, Jaiyan shook her head. "I'm buying this armour, not taking it. How much?"

"Thirty-five, in gold."

"There, that wasn't so painful, hmm?" Jaiyan scooped out a handful of coins. "I haven't proved a hero yet. Maybe if I do, you can give me things for free, but not yet."

The drow girl accepted the gold, albeit ruefully. "I meant no offence."

"I know," she said evenly. "I just…I'm not worth free stuff. Not yet, anyway. Ask me again after I kill something big."

"Boss already killed big things," Deekin piped up innocently.

Jaiyan willfully ignored him, smiled instead at the drow girl. "Beautiful armour. Thank you."

The girl inclined her head. "You are most welcome."

Jaiyan turned away, found Valen gazing at her, an unreadable expression half-hidden in his frost-blue eyes. "What?"

He shook his head silently.

"Fine. Don't talk to me." She gave him a good-natured smirk and stalked past him. "Deeks? How are we for food?"

"Bread and cheese and apples mostly, Boss," came the high-pitched reply. "And some salted meat that Deekin thinks used to be cow. And brandy. The type Boss likes."

Half-expecting a rebuke from her taciturn tiefling companion, she kept walking, avoiding him. "That's it? Did we eat everything else?"

"Maybe there be some carrots."

"Thanks, Deeks. You lighten my life." She paused, tugged her new black tunic straighter. "So. Valen. Where to first?"

She turned in time to see him frown reprovingly. "You speak as if this is some mere game," he said.

"Fine," she sighed. "Tell me where I'm going to meet a grisly end, then."

"You have spoken with Nathyrra?"

"About the Valsharess' allies, yes. About the beholders and the ilithid. What else can you say to brighten my day?"

He stopped, folded his arms again. Watching him, she _saw_ his eyes flicker as he reigned back his anger. "There are other places we should approach first."

"Wonderful. _More _ways to meet a nasty and probably messy death."

"There are rumours, coming in with the scouts," he said, cutting across her. "Far down the great river, there is an island. An island that was always deserted, always isolated. Now, the rumours say, there are buildings and towers, a town. Sprung up from nowhere."

"Something to do with the Valsharess?"

"I cannot say," he answered. "But worthy of investigation, perhaps."

"Alright. Whatever you think best. I think I'll have to trust your judgment, in any case. It's not like I know my way around down here." She frowned at him. "There are _rivers_ down here?"

"Yes." Something very like amusement threaded through his voice. "Rivers and great lakes, hidden in the darkness. The Underdark is not one cave, stranger. It is a world beneath yours, entire and whole."

"And highly lacking in things like daylight," Jaiyan remarked waspishly.

"But it still has its own cycle of day and night. There are times the darkness seems deeper."

"Alright. Now you're _trying_ to scare me." She paused, scanned the market stalls nearest. "If I decide to go and buy food, will I be buying anything strange?"

Valen arched an eyebrow. "Have you ever eaten rothe? And do you like mushrooms?"

"No….and yes, I don't mind mushrooms. Why?"

"How much do you think grows down here naturally?"

"Mushrooms, obviously." She groaned. "Do you need to get anything?"

"No," he said. "Do you have healing potions?"

"A few."

"Then get some more." Unequivocal, he folded his arms again and nodded in the direction of a stall draped in glittering, humming amulets. "Gulhrys the wizard can help with that."

Very aware of Valen's impatient gaze on her shoulders, she approached the drow mage, inclined her head.

"Ah, the Seer's messiah," the wizard intoned. "And how can I help our saviour today, my lady?"

She searched the drow's face, was pleased to see nothing but a genial smile on his lips and a sly gleam in his crimson eyes. "Healing potions, my friend, so I don't die too early and doom everyone to ruin and damnation."

"Ah, indeed." Gulhrys smirked. "Ruin and damnation are _so_ tedious." He rummaged along a shelf crowded with various labeled bottles. "How are you finding our fair city, adventurer?"

"Dark," she said, straight-faced. "Though I've only really explored the tavern so far."

Gulhrys slipped a handful of pale-blue potions into a leather satchel. "I'd love to continue our discussion further," he said amiably, "But Master Valen is giving me looks that would…how do you say it? Looks that can kill?"

She pushed coins across the bench, ruefully scooped up the satchel. "Thanks, Gulhrys."

As the drow mage bowed his head, she slung the satchel over her shoulder along with her main pack. "So, Valen. How do we get out of here?"

He leveled an annoyed glare at her. "Down to the docks. Come on."

He strode away ahead of her, his tail lashing irritably. She exchanged a wry look with Deekin. "Think he likes us yet?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer is yet again the same. And just in case, a warning because from here on, the story might get somewhat more violent. _

_**Chapter Six – Shaori's Fell**_

Dark cavern walls rose overhead, and the air seemed alive with rushing sound of moving water. Jaiyan stood at the rail of the boat, gazing down into a river that slid past, dark as tar except where it frothed around tall rock columns and brushed up against jagged rocks. She peered out into the darkness, could not see the riverbank. Deekin was perched on the rail beside her, peering excitedly down at the foam below.

"Boss?"

"Yes?"

"How big this river be?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Sorry, Deeks."

"It goes further than I've ever traveled," Valen offered from where he sat, back straight against the single mast, and his flail balanced across his knees. "Nearly six weeks walking from here, it plummets down into a huge waterfall, and I've never been down there."

Deekin regarded him through bird-bright eyes. "And the other way?"

"It goes for leagues until it turns into a stream that trickles down through a crack in the rocks, very close to the surface."

Deekin's hands flew to his pack. "Deekin must write this down…"

When Valen looked to her for an explanation, Jaiyan just grinned at him. "Deeks is a writer. He writes everything down. Bear that in mind."

The tiefling grunted, and his gaze swung back to some indistinct point near the stern.

At a loss, Jaiyan glanced away from him, to where Cavallas, the odd, sibilant-voiced boatman stood beside the wheel. Remembering the boatman's hissed agreement, and her mother's belief in the rivers of the dead, and the ferryman, she shivered a little.

Deekin looked at her over the edge of his newly-unfurled parchment. "Boss be alright?"

She nodded absently. "Just thinking."

"Boss need help?"

Valen made a sound very like a bitten-off laugh. "Do you often?"

Jaiyan bristled. "That's not what…oh, never mind. No, Deeks, I'm fine." While the little kobold bent his head over his parchment again, she shoved away from the rail and crouched beside Valen. "So…where are you from?"

He fixed her with suspicious blue eyes. "Is that important?"

"Not really. I just wanted to talk." She studied him sidelong. "You don't trust me."

"Untrue," he said, softer. "I don't know you. The Seer claims to have visions given to her by Eilistraee herself, and for some reason they involve _you_."

"And you don't believe her?"

"I believe she had visions. These visions might be given to her by Eilistraee. They might even concern you." His unwavering gaze never left her face. "But that does not mean you will save Lith My'athar, or that you will care about the Seer."

The ferocity in his eyes unnerved her. "You think I'm going to betray them."

"I don't know. Maybe." He clasped his hands over the haft of his flail. "Maybe you'll run off into the Underdark. Maybe you'll try to contact the Valsharess. Maybe you'll fall foul of your own incompetence. The end result would be the same, and the Seer's visions would be shattered."

Jaiyan coughed uncomfortably. "Nice to know you've thought this through. So what are you going to do to make sure I don't?"

"I will protect you, when we're out in the Underdark. I will keep you alive. But if you attempt to betray the Seer…"

"What?" she snapped, suddenly annoyed. "You'll what, exactly? Not hesitate to kill me? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I will do anything I need to, in order to keep the Seer and Lith My'athar safe," he said quietly. "They both mean a great deal to me, and I will not stand by and see either one betrayed. And so, until that time, or until you prove me wrong, I will watch you."

"Listen," she snarled. "I did not _ask_ to be any kind of saviour. I'm down here for an old friend, to find out why in the hells drow are slinking up to the surface. No one told me I was going to be part of any prophecy. I've been cursed by a completely barking wizard. And now I'm a long way underground, on a boat, going to investigate an island that wasn't quite there the last time anyone looked. So, forgive me if I'm somewhat prickly."

"I did not mean to…"

"So," she added, cutting across him. "If that means you don't trust me, so be it. Don't care. But I am not going to and will not betray your precious Seer. Understand?" Without giving him time to respond, Jaiyan stamped away from him, and stalked across the deck until the mast and the slope of the prow obscured him. Feeling flustered and angry mostly at herself, she sat heavily near the very edge of the prow and let her legs dangle over the rushing water.

Small footsteps sounded near her shoulder, and Deekin's quill gently brushed her arm. "Boss?"

"Sorry, Deeks. That wasn't very ladylike, was it?"

"Nope."

"No, didn't think so." She shuffled along, giving him space to sit beside her. She watched the bobbing motion of his quill as he kept writing. "Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"You know, you can stay in Lith My'athar if you want. Or even go back up to the surface."

He pinned her with those knowing black eyes. "What Boss means by this?"

"Just…I don't know, it just doesn't feel good. The Underdark, Deeks. What do we know about drow and curses and a Valsharess?"

Deekin nodded thoughtfully. "Didn't know much about strange artifacts either, Boss. Or mythal crystals. Or flying cities."

"I don't know. This feels different. Much worse."

"Deekin not sure, Boss. Scorpion-monster nest felt worse. Charging into shadow plane felt worse."

Jaiyan laughed, slightly choked. "Deekin, what I'm saying is, if you want to sit this one out, you can."

"Boss being silly."

"No, I…" She drew in a deep breath and stared stolidly at the moving surface of the water. "I'm actually being sensible."

"Nope. Boss being silly." Deekin's dark eyes glinted over the top of his parchment. "How can Deekin write Boss's adventures down if Deekin not with Boss?"

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The boat ground against a gravel slope, and Jaiyan saw rock shapes rising up through the gloom. Tall spires, reaching up into the empty air, elegantly designed, and entirely un-drow-like. Pale colours, peach marble and cream tiles edging tower roofs; no suggestion anywhere of the elaborate, interlocking black on black designs that swirled across all drow surfaces. No spider shapes, no cobwebbing patterns; the buildings had the strange air of an elven city about them, and yet were leagues underground, untouched, and gleaming in the darkness.

"What Boss thinks?"

"I'm not sure. On the surface, this kind of place would make me happy at the thought of pretty elven boys and lots of that sweet elven wine that makes my head spin."

On her other side, Valen snorted. "Know a lot of elves, do you?"

"Not really," she said absently. "I trained with a half-orc and a dwarf, though." While Valen frowned at her, she nodded to Deekin and made her way up the slope.

Ahead, the air seemed clearer than by the river, free of dampness. On both sides, high white towers rose, a marble bridge spanning the space between.

"I don't like this," Jaiyan said. "It's too…nice."

Valen nodded. "I agree."

"Let's do this carefully." She drew her sword, moved beneath the marble bridge. Ahead, she saw more high parapets, and dark pathways snaking between high rock outcrops. _Plenty of places for an ambush_, she thought grimly. One glance showed her that Valen and Deekin thought the same; the former had unslung his flail, while the latter primed his crossbow.

A flutter of movement caught her eye, and two figures, stepping out into the half-light. At first look they seemed normal elves, slender and beautiful, with slanted ears disappearing under thick falls of golden hair. Then her gaze skipped up, and she saw the spans of wings behind their shoulders, bone arches thick with white feathers.

"Elves with wings?" she said aloud.

"Avariel," Deekin supplied helpfully. "Deekin read abouts them once. Elves that have wings and live in cities in high mountains."

She nodded and studied the two elves. "Who are you?"

"My name is Nairow," one of the elves answered lightly. "And we welcome you here, to Shaori's Fell."

"Why are you here?" Jaiyan asked bluntly.

"Oh, we're very happy here," Nairow said. Her wings rustled as she shrugged slightly. "Our queen likes it as well, we think."

"Your queen?" Jaiyan studied their faces, saw nothing past wax-doll smiles and wide-lashed eyes. "How did you all come to be here?"

"Oh…we don't mind it here. The drow don't bother us."

She frowned and felt something cold worm down her spine. "Are you sure there's nothing else you want to tell me?"

Nairow nodded brightly. "We're all happy here."

"Right…if I wanted to speak to your queen, where could I find her?"

"Queen Shaori is in a cave," the other avariel volunteered. "Past the market place, and the library, and you will find her in her cave."

Jaiyan opened her mouth to demand why a queen would be living in a cave, but Valen's hand clapped down on her shoulder. "Thank you," the tiefling said briskly. "You've been very helpful."

Following him past the winged elves, Jaiyan jogged to keep up with his long strides. "Thoughts?"

"Something very wrong. Magic maybe."

"They know about drow," she mused. "You don't think they just made a city here?"

"A city complete with towers and the gods know how many buildings in such a short time? I sent scouts down the river often enough to know this was not here two weeks ago."

The path opened up in front of them, flanked on all four sides by high rock walls. Empty merchant stalls lined the square. A few blank-faced avariel stood as if play-acting as merchants, but they had nothing to offer on their shelves; everything was bare and dusty. Their eyes were round and dark, as if they had been told of some great tragedy, and fought to keep emotion in check. Looking at them, Jaiyan was reminded abruptly of the day her sister had vanished. Taken off during the night, with a single change of clothes, and an old bow and quiver from the barn, and a handful of gold lifted from their father's coin purse. The look in their mother's eyes when given the news was the same, somehow, as these lost-looking avariel; vacant, white-ringed and unblinking.

"Are you alright?" Valen's voice, gruff with impatience.

She snapped to, and looked at him. "Yes…yes. Sorry."

"Come on. We're wasting time."

A little unsettled, she shook herself and followed, matching pace with Deekin. Valen led them past the grey hulk of a strange-looking building, possibly the library the avariel mentioned. _But why, _Jaiyan thought, _would a library look so…decrepit?_

She breathed in deeply, and the air tasted stale and motionless. The dry earth beneath her heels crunched, and felt more like sand. The path looped away from the library, and sloped down amid high ravine walls. Trailing Valen, with her eyes on the stone ramparts above her, her skin prickled uneasily. Much further ahead, the dark mouth of a cave yawned, unbroken black.

She was no sorcerer, or wizard, to own any kind of arcane premonition; but her gut roiled. The same apprehensive feeling had speared her too many times to recall, but it usually seemed to involve immediate violence. Deekin called it _Boss's hump_, though she was fairly sure he meant _hunch_.

"Valen, wait."

He turned, his flail braced in both hands. "What?"

"I don't like that cave. It's too dark."

His mouth twisted. "Caves _are_ dark, surfacer girl."

She scowled up at him. "Something is _very_ not right here. Don't tell me you can't feel it too."

He grunted noncommittally. "And?"

"And how about we don't march into that cave playing trumpets and waving banners, we _wait_."

His hands tightened on his flail. "The only way to find what…"

"Boss!" Deekin's voice was terse. "Drow!"

She looked past Valen's broad shoulder in time to see them, spilling out of the cave. They moved with frightening speed, and Jaiyan had the barest instant to notice that their armour was subtly different; red swirls painted onto leather, and crimson markings on their capes.

But then she was moving, leaping sideways as the drow female in the lead flung herself forward. Behind her, she could hear Deekin frantically singing his way to a spell. The drow female's sword scored along her own, jarring her as the blade snagged against her hilt. She yanked her hand back, met the drow's next swing. With her free hand, she punched the drow in the temple, was rewarded with a snarl and a hissed obscenity. The drow female tore her blade free and lunged again, launching herself into the air. Her feet smacked into Jaiyan's chest and forced her to the ground.

The breath drove from her lungs in one painful gasp, and she tried to turn over. The drow female's knees slammed down on either side of her waist. She swung her sword up, bar-flat, raggedly met the drow's downward attack. Sweating hard, she kicked up, felt her knee connect with the small of the drow's back. Sending her attacker sprawling over her head, she hurtled after and plunged her sword hilt-deep into the soft flesh between the drow's hips and ribs.

She pushed up to her feet and felt the blood rush from her head. A crossbow bolt whined past, pinning a drow warrior to the rock wall behind. She spun round, meeting the upraised blades of another soldier. This one was small and rakish-looking, his snowy hair cropped short against his head. He matched her strokes, pushed her back towards the stone wall. She blocked and pushed away the downward slice of one sword, and ducked the other. With her own weapon swiveling in her hands she straightened, she yelped - instead of the drow, twin swords flashing, she got a face-full of blood.

As the drow toppled, half beheaded, she saw Valen, moving on already, his flail swinging out wide again, slamming with dreadful precision against the uncovered head and neck of the next drow.

Arrows of white light exploded past her, and she vaguely heard Deekin chanting something. She followed Valen, watched impressed as he mowed through another three drow without seeming to pause for breath. Despite his heavy build, he moved with fluid, easy grace, and she felt the telltale stab of envy as he spun away from one collapsing drow to his next goal without missing a beat.

"Boss!"

She looked up, followed Deekin's frantic pointing. At the cave mouth, ringing in flickering blue light, stood a slender, haughtily beautiful drow female. She was tall for her type, and her thick hair was wrapped around her crown in elaborate plaits. Her parted hands crackled with woken power, and her eyes were wide and on fire.

Jaiyan bolted past Valen as he twisted and smashed his flail down onto the shoulder joint of a hapless male drow. She dodged the horrific spray of blood and ran on, eyes always on the tall drow female.

More crossbow bolts whined past, and one clipped the tall drow's shoulder. She whirled, a snarl twisting her face. "And who have we here?"

Jaiyan skidded to a halt. "What? Me?"

"A human. A female, no less," the drow female purred. Her fingers still sizzled. "And in such company."

Jaiyan eyed her warily. On principle, she disliked opponent who tried to distract her with talk before attacking. "What's your point?"

"Your tiefling," the female said, smooth as silk. "He fights with the rebels, does he not?"

Behind her, Valen growled and brought his flail plummeting down onto the skull of the last drow warrior. He turned, breathing hard beneath his green armour. With blood still dripping from the flail heads, he approached the cave. "And if I do?" he demanded, acerbic.

The drow raised a white eyebrow. "Tell me, brave tiefling, do you know a drow assassin your feeble Seer has taken into your fold?"

"What has this to do with anything?" He stepped forward. "Tell me why I shouldn't cleave your head from your shoulders?"

The drow laughed, rich and low. "Oh, tiefling. You can try. If you make it back to your Seer's city, tell Nathyrra that Sabal sends her regards." She raised her hands higher, and pale blue light spluttered between her outstretched palms. She cried a loud word that sounded harsh and guttural, and then she was gone, leaving air that smelled burned.

Jaiyan sheathed her sword slowly, wincing as her shoulders rolled painfully. "Valen?"

He lowered his flail, watched blood fall from it. "Are you injured?"

"No. Deeks?"

"Nope. Deekin be hale and hearty."

She looked back at the tiefling, at the oddly dismal cast to his face. "What's wrong? What did she mean?"

"About Nathyrra?" Valen sighed heavily. "That is something Nathyrra should tell you herself. I would not presume to say, not unless…"

"Oh, so _now_ you develop a sense of chivalry." She smirked at him. "Alright. You're forgiven, for now." Secretly impressed, but also vowing to corner Nathyrra at the earliest opportunity, she beckoned Deekin over. "Sure you're alright, Master Kobold?"

He nodded; his packs and tunic looked a little singed, and his eyes were very wide. "Those drow be lots more fiercer, Boss."

"Yes. They were." She unbuckled her pack and groaned. "Alright, I'm invoking my authority as saviour of Lith My'athar and calling a rest."

Valen observed her through narrowed blue eyes. "We should go on."

"Valen, I'm aching and bleeding and bruised, and I could murder a drink. Since I don't think there's a tavern here, I'm going to settle for water and cheese, because I've just realized I'm hungry." She patted the rock beside her. "Now come and sit down and stop seething. That cave will still be there."

"My lady, stopping will not be wise."

She stared at him, startled speechless. _My lady? One fight goes past, and I get promoted from 'surfacer girl' to 'my lady'?_ She felt an unbidden, treacherous blush creep up her neck. She turned away from, spoke too fast over her shoulder. "A quick stop? Just to sit and eat cheese?"

Valen relented and lowered his flail. "Not for long."

She busied herself searching through her pack. "No, not for long, and then we can find out what exactly is happening here." Her hands closed around the greasepaper-wrapped lump of cheese she was looking for. "But for now, sit down, have something to eat, and I'll introduce you to Deekin's Doom Song."


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer again - only Jaiyan is mine. And another warning for the fight scenes, just in case. _

_**Chapter Seven – The Broken Mirror**_

Valen methodically cleaned half-dry blood of the heads of his flail, and eyed his new companions askance. "_That_ was a song?"

Jaiyan exchanged a slightly wicked look with Deekin. "What, didn't you like it?"

He pushed up to his feet and groaned. "It will certainly linger in my head."

"What big tiefling mean by this?"

Jaiyan grinned and yanked her pack straps tighter. "It's a compliment." She settled the weight on her shoulders and eyed the cave dubiously. "Well, here goes nothing."

Inside, the air was still and tasted of dust. A waterfall cascaded over smooth rock, and a single pin-point of light floated just above the arched wings of a tired-looking avariel. Once-lustrous honey-coloured hair was heaped on her head, and her blue eyes were vacant and weary. She stared at the moving water with curiously blank fixation.

Not wanting to startle her, Jaiyan let the light fall across them first. "Are you Queen Shaori?"

The avariel turned slowly. "And if I was?"

"Can I ask you some questions?"

"Questions, questions, questions!" The avariel rolled her eyes. "Always questions. _Shaori, tell me this. Shaori, tell me that_."

"How did this city come to be here?"

"It is my city. Or it was." Shaori frowned. "I think it was. Before…before the mirror."

Jaiyan shifted uneasily. "What mirror?"

"The mirror…it's broken now." Shaori's empty gaze wandered. "I think it…it shows things. And now it's broken…things are the wrong way round."

Valen frowned. "Like a queen living in a cave?"

Shaori scowled at him. "I am _not_ a queen."

Jaiyan stepped between them, tried to drag the avariel's attention back to her. "So if the mirror's broken, where is it? All its pieces?"

"I don't know. You could look in the palace, I suppose. I had a piece, but I gave it to that drow lady."

Jaiyan groaned. "You gave it to Sabal?"

"Was that her name? She asked very nicely…maybe she needs the mirror." Shaori gave another disinterested shrug. "I don't know why she would. It's not helpful."

Leaving the former queen to her study of the waterfall, Jaiyan led the others back outside. "Why is nothing ever simple?"

"Simple is boring," Deekin offered. "Boss want to start looking for this mirror?"

"I suppose. Here's hoping putting it back together will do something."

Valen crooked his head at her. "Why would you want to put it back together?"

She gaped at him. "Why? What kind of question…? Valen, have you _seen_ these people? It's like something's been sucked out of them. And, Hells, I feel uncomfortable under tons of rock. Gods know what flying elves would feel like."

The smallest hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I was just asking, my lady."

"Hmmph." Jaiyan strode past him, sword drawn, leading the way back towards the marketplace. An equally dispiriting chat with a hollow-eyed merchant gave them directions to the palace.

Or rather, what had been the palace. Now, the high roofs were muffled with dust; great skeins of cobwebs were strung between the needlepoint spires. No lights burned at the windows, and the open doors were pitted and half-rusting.

With every nerve at full attention, Jaiyan stepped across the threshold, and into darkness that was thick with dust. "Deekin?"

In answer, mage light sputtered above Deekin's outstretched hand. It flared across pillars strung with webs, and the edges of empty tables and chairs. Open doors gaped at the far end of the hall, laced with shimmering webs. Jaiyan advanced carefully across the floor, eyes flickering.

"Boss!"

She spun, sword out, tensed to leap. But nothing erupted out of the shadows on either side. She looked over her shoulder. "Seeing things, Deeks?"

"No, Boss! Up! _Up!_"

Her gaze traveled upwards, and her stomach constricted. Dropping leisurely down from the high beams was some dark, eight-legged monstrosity. Never entirely fond of spiders in any size or form, Jaiyan felt the skin on the back of her neck go cold. This was no ordinary spider, giant or otherwise; where the head should have been, the flesh changed, rippling up into the lean, dark torso of a drow warrior.

"Driders!" Valen shouted. "Move!"

The creature flung back on four legs and shrieked. With no real room to maneuver, Jaiyan gritted her teeth and slashed at it. The rearing legs writhed, and her blade glanced against one. The drider howled again and shoved forward, crashing into her. The spined ends of its legs scrabbled against her leather armour and she bit back the sudden urge to whimper.

An acid spell spluttered over her head and exploded against the drider's bare chest. The drider's legs bunched up, and it screeched horribly. Shamelessly half-closing her eyes, Jaiyan hacked past its flailing arms and into the solid muscle of its abdomen. Another spell arrowed in and burrowed into the drider's throat. Choking on melting flesh, the drider crashed down to the floor. She turned, chest heaving, fully expecting to meet another attack.

Behind her, Valen stood braced over three dead driders, while another was curled against a pillar, peppered with crossbow bolts.

Jaiyan shuddered. "What _are_ those things?"

"Driders, Boss," Deekin cheerfully informed her. "Part drow, part spider. Deekin thinks drow do that to other drow when they think other drow be traitors to Lolth."

She stared at the dead driders, sickened. "I don't like drow. I don't like spiders."

"Boss not like spiders?"

"No. Don't you remember? The huge spiders in the tomb in the desert?"

"Oh…yes. Boss screamed like a little girl."

She snorted. "There's nothing wrong with not liking spiders."

Valen shrugged. "I don't mind spiders. They go down as easily as anything else after a flail to the head."

Jaiyan found herself smiling, despite her crawling skin, and the dead driders, and the liberal gouts of blood on the floor. Suppressing an inappropriate giggle, she just shook her head and pressed on into the palace, the other two trailing her. The corridor opened up, was hung with tarnished old portraits and dangling chandeliers, the crystal in them mostly cracked and reflecting odd patterns from Deekin's mage light.

She edged through a last pair of open doors, and looked up into a ceiling that was high and arched. Thick curtains of cobwebs hung between tall black columns, trembling slightly. Wary of more driders, she kept to the middle of the floor, while Valen and Deekin scanned the cobwebs.

A dais rose at the far end of the chamber, with a marble throne that may once have been beautiful. Sprawled on the throne was another avariel, this one small and scrawny. His eyes were huge in a pale, angled face, but he seemed different; the gaze he turned on Jaiyan was gently amicable rather than blank, and he smiled. "Welcome, friends."

Jaiyan regarded him suspiciously, saw that he wore patched motley clothes. "You're a jester?"

"I was," the avariel said. "A fool I was, and empty-minded."

"And the mirror turned everything upside down."

"Yes." The jester nodded sadly. "And so a queen lurks in a cave, and a feeble-brained palace fool becomes the wisest man in the city." In spare, unadorned words, the jester explained that the mirror, when whole, was known as All-Seeing, and granted the ability to look at anything. "And so the queen looked upon a wizard, by name of Halaster, in Undermountain."

Jaiyan nodded tiredly. "Oh, yes. I know him."

"He was not pleased."

"So as punishment, he did this to you all? And to the mirror?"

The jester nodded. Sudden desperation showed in his eyes. "To restore this, the pieces must all be found, and put within the frame again."

Jaiyan searched his face. "If the mirror is put back together, and everything goes back to normal…won't you, as well?"

A tiny smile curled one end of his mouth. "Yes, I will. But come. There is little time, and I must tell you where to find the mirror shards."

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Several exhausting hours later, Jaiyan traipsed across the marketplace again, the other two in tow. She was drenched in drider blood, her elbow felt numb from a fall against marble, her hair was a disgrace, and her feet ached. To her utter disgust, Valen seemed little affected; he walked with his flail braced across one shoulder, and while his armour was blood-splashed, she suspected it did not quite reek of dead driders the same way hers did.

"Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Got those mirror pieces safe? Because so help me, I will kill you if you lose them."

Deekin yipped disapprovingly. "_Boss_. When Deekin ever lost or broken anything valuable?"

"That tower statue you were meant to give to Tymofarrar springs to mind."

Unearthing the missing shards had proved punishing and irritating in equal measure. First there had been the merchant who demanded something _utterly worthless_ in exchange for a compass that could lead the way to the first shard. Jaiyan had been tempted to ask if her fist in his teeth would count, but she eventually pried the compass from him after passing off a copper coin as worthlessly cursed. Next had been the library, where they had encountered a harmless medusa – a nice change, according to Deekin. Then the wizard's apprentice, in a tower filled with vrocks and a balor, and finally the temple. Where the avariel priest had required a challenge taken in return for his mirror shard – a challenge that involved her stumbling and half-sick with poison, while she fought off spiders.

_And Valen screamed at the priest that he was stronger, that he should have been given the challenge. _

Jaiyan shook herself free of recollection as the palace loomed ahead of them again. Despite a brief stop for a hurried cold meal, she felt hungry and weary, and wanting nothing more than warm blankets. _Oh, some adventurer you are,_ her thoughts scoffed at her. _Aren't we supposed to like the same boring food day after day and bedding down on stone floors? _

Inside the throne room, they found the jester still slumped idly on the throne. He was twirling an empty frame between his hands, and his face brightened as he saw them. "My friends, you return. With the pieces..?"

Jaiyan nodded slowly. "All we could find. But the last piece – Shaori's piece…"

"Was given to Sabal," the jester finished. He looked past Jaiyan, and a smile creased his lips. "Who has brought it with her, and so the mirror can be made whole again."

She turned, and her heart sank as she saw Sabal herself, moving wraith-quiet between the pillars, half a dozen drow warriors flanking her. "Oh, a surprise," she muttered. "I love surprises."

Sabal smiled thinly. "Jester…you have the frame?"

The fool nodded innocently.

"Give it to me."

Jaiyan's sword rang from its sheath. "Don't give it to her."

"But the mirror must be made whole…" Not understanding, the jester's gaze flickered from human to drow and back again.

"You give her that frame, she'll take it from you and you'll never return home," Jaiyan said.

Behind her, the air hummed as Deekin sang softly to himself. Sabal, noticing, raised one hand, already enveloped in a corona of white light. "Give me the frame, fool," she hissed. "Or don't, and I'll take it, and the other shards, from your lifeless corpses."

"Oh, a morbid threat. That's original." Jaiyan edged forward. Her throat was dry, and her heartbeat galloped. The drow woman was lean, built for lethal speed. Magic whined around one clenched fist, while in the other she held a flail. "Anything else you want to say?"

Sabal smiled again. "Only this," she said, silken. A lightning bolt shot out from her palm, searing over Jaiyan's head. Behind her, Deekin yelped and flung himself sideways.

"You missed," Jaiyan grated. _Closer, closer, closer…just one more step closer_, she thought desperately. She needed to breach the distance between them; she did not fancy her chances against both flail and magic.

"I wasn't aiming at you." Another bolt cracked from the drow's hand, and Deekin cried out as his half-prepared spell sputtered into nothing.

Jaiyan did not turn her head. "Deeks? You alright?"

"Singed tail!" came the plaintive reply.

Jaiyan smothered a grin. On her other side, she could half-see Valen stalking purposefully towards Sabal's soldiers.

The air roared and shimmered around Sabal's tightened fist. Before she could rattle off another spell, Jaiyan launched at her, crashing bodily into her and driving her back a pace. She swept the flat of her blade against Sabal's free hand and slammed her elbow into the other woman's stomach.

Sabal growled something in drow and melted away from her. Jaiyan followed, desperately trying to keep her away from the others.

On her other side, Valen ploughed into the drow soldiers. He landed a hard kick on the first's chest, sending him spinning away, and his flail crunched into the second before he was moving again.

Jaiyan threw herself at Sabal again, but the drow flung up a hand and snapped out a quick word. Crimson light erupted from her fingers, slamming into Jaiyan's chest, leaving her breathless and in pain. She pushed on, teeth clenched, and dodged another bright red spray of light. Some part of her registered screaming as Valen chopped down two more drow soldiers, and the crank and twang of Deekin firing his crossbow.

Red light seared out from Sabal's free hand and lanced across her shoulder. She cried out, stumbled. Jerked away as the drow's flail spun towards her head. Raggedly, she brought her sword up, and the flail chain wrapped around the blade.

Sabal smiled again. "Impasse, little human?"

Jaiyan spat out an obscenity and wrenched at her sword.

The drow tightened her grip on the flail haft, and gestured with her free hand.

Jaiyan kicked frantically at Sabal's ankles, not wanting to lose her sword. The drow's palm flared, and then needles of pain dug into her flesh. White light cracked off her armour, and the skin inside felt blistered. She sank her teeth into the inside of her cheek and held on as the spell crackled over her.

A crossbow bolt blurred past Jaiyan's face, close enough that she could have counted the fletching.

Sabal screamed and lurched away, blood showering from her wrist, impaled with the bolt.

Jaiyan moved after her, kicked aside the clumsily-swung flail. With her ruined hand hanging, Sabal jumped back, tried to counter. The flail snagged against the sword, tangled against the hilt. Jaiyan drove her knee into Sabal's side, and the drow's knees buckled. Still clutching at the flail with one hand, the drow stared up at her, her face taut with pain.

Never a supporter of long or melodramatic pre-death speeches, Jaiyan saw her open her mouth as if to speak, and rammed her sword into Sabal's chest, pinning her to the floor.

Silence, then, broken only by the pattering of small claws. Deekin's hand touched her arm, and he pressed a healing potion into her hands. "Drink this, Boss."

Jaiyan complied without arguing. Her entire body throbbed, and her head pounded. "How's the tail?"

"Still elegant."

She laughed, and turned in time to see Valen approaching. "How are you?"

He nodded briskly. "Fine."

"You don't even look like you've broken into a sweat. And how many drow was that? Five?"

"Six," he said.

She knelt beside Sabal's still form, quickly rifled through the drow's packs. She found three jewels, which she shamelessly tossed to Deekin, two healing potions that she passed to Valen, and the mirror shard.

"Thank you, my friends." The jester smiled sadly. "I am sorry there had to be so much death for this."

Jaiyan was tempted to snap something about treacherous drow, but then she remembered her own allies in Lith My'athar, and decided against it. "Yes."

The jester held the last piece over the frame. "Are you ready?"

Jaiyan looked at him, suddenly touched. "Are _you?_"

He shrugged lightly. "What else can I do?"

The jester slipped the last shard into place. For a long moment, the silence hung breathlessly. A heartbeat later, and the frame glowed in his hands. Pale light raced along the shattered mirror, and the world lurched, upended, and went dark.

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Jaiyan blinked. Her pulse gradually slowed, and her vision cleared. She shook her head hard, saw that they still stood in the throne room. Valen stood to her left, a thunderous scowl on his angular face, while Deekin looked around, bewildered. "What…just happened?" she asked out loud.

"The restoring of things," answered Queen Shaori.

Jaiyan squinted, saw the avariel queen standing beside the throne. Her face seemed softer, her eyes and smile kind. "Your Majesty."

Shaori laughed gently. "Yes. I must apologise for my behaviour when you arrived. It seems I was…not myself."

"Not a problem, your Majesty. Curses do strange things."

"They do indeed." Shaori's gaze shifted to the jester, sitting slouched on the throne. His face was vacant, and his large eyes were foggy beneath tangled brows. "He will be cared for, I assure you of that. He will never know what he did."

Jaiyan swallowed uncomfortably. She had long ago accepted the unpredictable malice of the world, but down here in the darkness, such truths seemed all the more cruel. "So," she said, forcing her voice light. "What happens now?"

"If it please you, you will leave these caverns, and when you do, we shall return to our mountains." Shaori lifted the mirror, flawless and gleaming. "I…would like you to have this. Perhaps you can do more good with it than I."

She took the mirror, felt the coldness of it against her fingers. It unnerved her, with its black, limitless depths, but she did not care for the thought of the Valsharess' drow discovering its uses. "As you wish it, your Majesty."

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Jaiyan sat at the prow of the boat, gazing out at the blank darkness of the caverns. Pale lanterns hung over the water, sending white reflections rippling across the surface. A large shadow swung over her, and she smiled tiredly up at Valen.

He crouched beside her. "What will you do with the mirror?"

"Give it to the Seer. I don't want it, but I don't want the Valsharess to get it." She stared out at the river. "Besides, I wouldn't know what to do with it. Use it to spy on people I grew up with, maybe. See if that really pretty girl I was jealous of is married, more than moderately stout, and has twelve terrible children, like I always hoped."

Valen watched her sidelong for a long moment. "You fought well today."

"You don't sound as surprised as I thought you'd be."

"I'm not." His eyebrows lifted. "Well, maybe a little." He hesitated, looked as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he inclined his head. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

She glanced past him, saw Deekin tearing down the deck. "Not a chance, it seems."

Valen laughed – briefly, more a bark than anything else – but it was a laugh, and Jaiyan grinned. She watched him stride away, stepping around the charging kobold, his tail swaying gently.

"Deeks. How are you this fine Underdark evening?"

Deekin dropped down beside her, a jumble of legs and arms and parchment. "Can Boss check Deekin's spelling? Not sure how to write 'Avariel'….or 'implacable'."

She accepted the unfurled parchment, and squinted at the spidery writing. "Course I can. Let's have a look. And who's implacable?"

"Big tiefling."

"Yes. He is, isn't he?" She tugged the parchment straighter. "What's this word?"

"Scrappy."

"Is that even a word?"

"Deekin be using it to describe."

She frowned at the offending word. "It's not really a proper word, though, is it? Unless you're talking about someone's fighting style or something. Or just someone…Deekin, who are you describing here?"

He stared studiously at the river roiling past. "You, Boss."

She sighed and kept reading. "Thought so."


	8. Chapter 8

_Just dropping in a quick edit of this one - only a couple of small changes - and another big thank-you to quickthorn for pointing them out!_

_**Chapter Eight – Remembering**_

Jaiyan wrapped her hands around her tankard and reflected how odd it seemed, to be grateful to be back in a tavern populated solely drow, in a drow city, in the Underdark. She shrugged and sipped at her drink. _Well, things are strange enough at the moment_.

Upon returning to the city, and proving that she had survived at least this far, the drow seemed to observe her with less skepticism and more curiosity. Even now, lurking at a table corner, she found herself being regarded. They rarely spoke to her, but kept those unnerving crimson eyes on her, watching her as she drank, glancing away quickly if she met their stares. _How is watching a human get drunk fun?_

At the hearth, Deekin sat with his lute cradled on his lap. Notes rang out, and his trembling voice intoned a long, complicated song of love lost and not quite regained.

"Is that ballad meant to sound like that?"

She glanced up, saw Nathyrra standing beside her table. As always, the drow woman had appeared as quietly as smoke. "Ah…well, it is a tragedy, so I suppose the dirge-like tone suits it. Sort of. Sit down, Nathyrra."

The drow nodded, glided onto the stool opposite. Even among others of her kind, Nathyrra was striking, and Jaiyan suppressed a sudden prickle of envy. _Stop it_, her thoughts told her firmly. _Yes, she's pretty. Very pretty. Nice cheekbones, beautiful smooth skin. But you have lots of things she doesn't. Like not having had to grow up in the Underdark._

"Copper for your thoughts?"

Jaiyan blinked. "Sorry. Mind's drifting." She lifted the tankard to her lips again. "I was actually contemplating how surprisingly drinkable this is."

Nathyrra laughed. "What did you expect it to be like?"

"I don't know…I was expecting some kind of terrible mushroom liqueur, flavoured with rothe blood, maybe."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Happy to be disappointed." Jaiyan motioned the serving girl over, accepted another tankard and slid one across the table to Nathyrra.

Who raised the drink in silent salute. "I can't believe you talked Valen into letting have a night to yourself."

"I whined and whimpered and threatened to follow him around complaining if he didn't." Jaiyan grinned wickedly. "I mean, we returned only this morning, and he wanted to go straight back out."

"He's stubborn."

"So am I." Jaiyan stared down at the dark ale. "Nathyrra, when we were on that island, we ran into a drow woman. Her name was Sabal."

Nathyrra went very still. "And…what happened to her?"

"I killed her," she said bluntly. "It was one of those 'her or me' situations."

"I understand," Nathyrra said quietly. "I…knew her. A long time ago. She was not a friend in the way you might have friends, but she was a friend in some way. Some drow way." Her slender fingers tightened around her tankard. "We…trained together."

"You're not originally from Lith My'athar?"

"No. I came here, along with a lot of the other rebels. We came from all over the Underdark. I grew up in Menzoberranzan, and I was a daughter of House Kant'tar." Her crimson eyes were distant, lost in some old memory. "I was considered talented with blades, and I was trained as an assassin. When one is to become a drow assassin, one learns to survive."

Jaiyan said nothing, simply listened.

"Ambition is key, as is pride, and learning how to hide it behind layers of deception. I found that useful when I turned to Eilistraee." Nathyrra shook herself suddenly. "I'm sorry. This is old."

"If you wish to speak of it, I will listen."

"I left Menzoberranzan eventually, considered a full assassin, and I was commissioned by another Matron Mother. She had a group of elite assassins that she poetically called the Red Sisters."

Jaiyan nodded, and her mind slid back to Sabal, with crimson patterns on her cloak and tunic.

"I became a celebrated Red Sister. I took many kills." Nathyrra's voice was almost monotone. "The Matron Mother who controls the Sisters…you know her as the Valsharess."

Jaiyan's head came up quickly. She gulped a mouthful of ale and studied Nathyrra's downturned features. "Thank you for telling me."

Nathyrra nodded quickly. "I…thank you for listening." Her crimson eyes darted uneasily. "There is something else."

"About you?"

"No. About the Valsharess."

Jaiyan nodded again. "Go on," she prompted gently.

"Somehow…I don't know how….the Valsharess contacted and summoned an arch-devil. A Duke of the Hells."

Jaiyan's skin turned cold. "A demon?"

"No. A devil. A baatezu." Nathyrra shrugged and did not meet her eyes. "One that is now under the Valsharess' control. What she plans to do with it…I could not say."

Jaiyan swiped her tongue across suddenly dry lips. "An arch-devil. Oh, _gods_. No wonder no one mentioned this before." She laughed nervously. "Well, maybe I'll get eaten by a beholder or crushed in a rockslide before I have to even think about going up against an arch-devil."

"I'm sorry." Nathyrra bit her lip. "You should have been told."

"I probably would have scarpered for the hills. Or whatever passes for hills around here." Jaiyan shrugged and silently concluded to not even consider the reality of facing an arch-devil until she really had to. "It's alright. One more thing on a long list of things that could kill me."

Nathyrra's crimson eyes lifted, wide in sympathy. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," she said, apologetic.

Jaiyan muttered some word of assent, or at least thought she did. An arch-devil…what did they even look like? She had seen some infernal creatures that she knew of, vrocks and the occasional erinyes. The balor in the tower at Shaori's Fell had been imposing and terrifying enough. _Though_, she thought, _if the Valsharess can summon and control an arch-devil, maybe it's her I should be more scared of_.

She leaned back and stretched, feeling the muscles in her shoulders roll and twinge. Deciding it was way past time for a hot bath, she stood and beckoned to Deekin. "Hey, Deeks. I'm going to go and turn myself into a prune."

"Why Boss wants to be small fruit?"

"I mean I'm going to have an absurdly long bath. Are you alright here?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "One thing, Boss…"

"Yes?"

"Deekin's shoulders be itching. And aching."

"Well, so are mine." When his perturbed expression did not change, she crouched down and gently maneuvered him around. "Let's have a look." She peeled the loose top of his tunic down, saw nothing but scales, a little scuffed near his collar. "Hmm. Can't see anything, Deeks. Maybe you're just generally aching. Drink a couple of healing potions before bed, alright?"

He clicked his teeth. "Whatever Boss says."

Leaving Deekin to amble back to his lute, she meandered out of the tavern and into the half-deserted city. She hooked her hands in her belt and wandered deliberately slowly, letting the cool air weave through her loose hair. With her eyes half-closed, she let her mind take her back to Drogan, soundly berating her for some naïve swordplay mistake.

_"Blade up, girl! No, up, I said, not wobbling!" The dwarf tsked then, and folded his arms over his barrel chest. "You're not trying."_

_"I _am_ trying," she snarled. Her hair was soaked with sweat, her wrists shook, and the baggy tunic that draped her thin frame heaved with every ragged breath. _

_"No, you're not, and don't you pretend you are. You're not leaving this practice field until I see something decent, young miss." _

Jaiyan grinned to herself, remembering how Drogan's acerbic manner had eventually melted away into something closely resembling kindness. For all his secrets – and there were many, she had come to realise – he had been a good master, and a better teacher. _Even if Hilltop is the most dismal place to spend a few winters_.

"Are you supposed to be here?"

She looked up, startled. The buildings on either side she no longer recognized, and the three drow males before her regarded her with narrowed red eyes. "Sorry?"

"Is the human deaf also?" One of the males tipped his head to one side. "This is not the centre of the city. This not the temple. This is not the tavern."

Jaiyan bristled. "I wasn't aware there were places I wasn't allowed to go."

"A human outsider, a surfacer, in a drow city? What else could be true?"

She slid one hand down to her sword hilt. "Then let me pass and we'll call it quits, and I won't come around here again."

"Silly human," the shortest of the three said mockingly. "Think it's that easy? Because the Seer likes you?"

"What if we _don't_ like you?" added the first.

_So much for kind and gentle followers of Eilistraee. _She glared at them. "Look, _boys_, I'm tired, and I want to get out of here. Now move, or I make you move."

The first drow scrubbed a hand through his long white hair and smirked. "_Make_ us move? Little human, you might be beloved of the Seer, but that doesn't mean that we have to bow and scrape to you."

"Alright, children, I'm not sure what bit you this morning, but I am not here for your personal amusement. Now move."

The first drow's grin widened. "Amusement? Now why didn't we think of that?"

Jaiyan's temper flared, and she drew her sword. "Move. Now."

"You'd hurt us?" the second drow said, deliberately provoking. "You, the do-gooding surfacer hero that we need because we can't defeat the Valsharess on our own?"

"Hurt you?" Jaiyan matched his grin. "No, but I might bludgeon all the teeth from your pretty little head, drow."

The drow hissed. "Try it, _rivvil_." He nodded to his companions, and they slowly circled around behind her. "Just _try_ it."

Entirely at the end of her tether, Jaiyan spun, and her sword scythed down towards the shortest of the three.

"_Stop! _Now! _All _of you!" A male voice, clipped and rough.

Jaiyan jerked to a halt, her blade a hairsbreadth from the drow's throat, and his daggers leveled at her stomach. Her eyes swiveled, and she saw a slender, handsome drow, still in the uniform of the Seer's troops. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Commander Imloth," he said, softer. His pale eyes hardened as he looked at the other drow. "Weapons down. All three of you. Now."

Sullenly, the drow males sheathed daggers and let go of sword hilts. Jaiyan noted with a flash of amusement that they were all staring at the floor, naughty schoolboys caught by a favourite teacher who they did not want to see disappointed.

"Now." Imloth gave them a raking stare. "What happened here?"

"Well," the first drow began.

"And _don't_ lie to me, Nalros, I heard most of it."

"Oh." The drow's crimson eyes skittered past Imloth's black-clad shoulder, and his expression crumpled. "Oh, _no._"

Jaiyan followed his gaze, and hid another grin as she saw Valen, his red hair a cry of colour against the darkness behind. He was divested of his armour, and clad instead in patched training leathers, and his flail was an ominous weight across his shoulders.

"Commander Imloth?" Valen crooked a red eyebrow. "Did I hear what I think I heard?"

"Indeed you did, General," Imloth said, straight-faced.

Watching him, Jaiyan could have sworn she saw a spark of quickly-buried hilarity in the commander's eyes.

"What's the punishment for threatening a sworn ally?"

"Oh, death, probably," Imloth suggested.

"Oh, come on, Commander," Nalros spluttered. "We weren't going to _hurt_ her. We were just…going to rough her up a bit."

"Rough her up a bit?" Valen demanded sharply. "The one person chosen by Eilistraee herself to help us? The one surfacer the Seer would trust? The _one person_ prophesied to save Lith My'athar?"

Nalros quailed. "General, I…"

"I want you – all three of you – on triple drill duty for the next eight days," Valen barked. "If I'm not here, Commander Imloth will see to it."

Imloth grinned wickedly. "I certainly will. And now, gentlemen, I will escort you back to your quarters. General, if you'd see the lady safely back."

As Imloth herded the surly drow away, still briskly berating them for their conduct, Jaiyan gave Valen a suspicious look. "You _enjoyed_ that. Both of you."

He shrugged. "We're easily pleased sometimes."

"What were you doing here?"

"Coming in from the practice fields." His blue gaze sharpened. "What were _you_ doing here?"

"Getting lost," she admitted. "Then I ran into the terrible trio, and they seemed adamant on proving just how manly they are. Or drow-ly. Or whatever the word is."

Valen grunted. "Come on. It's late."

In silence, feeling a little chastised herself, she trailed him to the temple. At the steps, she paused and asked, "Did you give the mirror to the Seer?"

"Yes. She was surprised, but grateful."

"Why, she thought I'd sell it maybe?" Jaiyan sighed and shook her head. "Sorry. That was uncalled-for."

"She was surprised that you hadn't thrown it in the river to be rid of it," he said mildly. "She was grateful that you trusted her with such an artifact."

"Oh." Jaiyan's cheeks warmed. "Well, that's alright, then. So I'll let you get back to your own quarters."

He nodded up the black steps. "My quarters are in the temple."

"Oh." Inexplicably, her face heated up even more. "I didn't know that."

He held the heavy doors open for her. "Does it matter?"

_Only for my wandering imagination_. "No," she said, too quickly. "Should it?"

A frown creased his brow. "Are you alright, my lady? That…encounter did not shake you up?"

She grinned at him, relieved for the excuse to change the subject. "Those three? They couldn't menace a gibberling." She hovered a moment longer, wondering if she should shake his hand, or pat his wrist, before her mind told her she was tired, and should go to bed before embarrassing herself further. "Goodnight, Valen."

Walking as quickly as she dared without actually fleeing, she dived up the stairs and fumbled with the keys at her room. Once safely inside, she groaned aloud at herself, locked the door, and considered slamming her head against the solid wood.

_How old are you, fourteen? Stumbling over your words around a good-looking man?_

Still grouching at herself, she shucked out of her clothes and crawled into bed, deciding to forgo the bath. Utterly relieved at the feel of silk sheets sliding against her skin, she nestled into the huge pillows and drifted into dreams.

_She drove the spade against the frozen ground and swore. Her breath plumed from cold lips, and her skin was pale. In solid rows, the cabbages were speckled with ice, and locked deep in the earth. Her hands were already half-numb, and she could not feel the blood that trickled from a deep cut to one knuckle. "Stupid bloody cabbages."_

_"Having fun?"_

_She glared over her shoulder. "Tarlin. Why are you bothering me?"_

_He grinned, disarming beneath a mop of black curls. "Nothing else to do."_

_"Well, I've got plenty to do. Father wants these all out by sunset, or he'll have my hide." _

_"Cabbages." Tarlin wrinkled his nose. "Don't even like the way they taste."_

_"Me neither." With another muttered obscenity, Jaiyan slammed the spade against the iron-hard soil and yelped as it jarred her hands. _

_"Need some help?"_

_"No," she snapped._

_"Whatever you say." Tarlin shrugged idly. "Look, I'll be over at the forge tonight, if you want to meet me."_

_She concentrated on her bleeding fingers, wrapped around the spade handle. "You know I can't."_

_"Right. Scared of your father."_

_She glared at him. "I am not scared of him." _

_Tarlin sauntered away. "Then come and meet me." _

Jaiyan woke, clawing at sheets that had somehow snaked around her throat during the night. Of all people she had forgotten over the years, why had she dreamed of him? Tarlin, the black-haired, always-smiling, handsome son of the blacksmith. She had snuck out to meet him that night, she remembered. Her fifteen-year-old self had been half excited and half afraid; of her father, yes, and of what she and Tarlin might end up doing. He was untrustworthy, but he was attractive, and she was curious, and her young mind was thoroughly bored with the tedious cycles of village life.

But she had stepped on the wrong floorboards, and her father had found her. Her mother had intervened that time, she recalled, and bartered extra chores instead of a thrashing.

Shaking the uneasy memory away, she kicked the sheets off and tried to think of other things. Arriving in Hilltop. Sweating her own bodyweight in Anauroch. Drinking in The Yawning Portal. Listening to Deekin sing. Plummeting onto the floor of the temple.

Valen Shadowbreath, holding a knife to her throat.

"That's _not_ helpful," she snapped to herself. She jerked her clothes on and splashed cold water on her face. She dragged a brush through her hair hard enough to hurt before twisting her long, dark tresses up into a tight braid.

As she was buckling her sword on, her stomach growled, and she forced herself to think of breakfast rather than disquieting old memories.

_Or disquieting new ones_.

Downstairs, she found the kitchens almost deserted but for a handful of drow servants. She nodded to them and rummaged around until she discovered bread and cold meat and cheese. She ate slowly, savouring the simple, warm taste of the new bread, then smiled as she heard the familiar tapping of small claws on the steps.

Deekin careened into the kitchen, for once without a single instrument of a roll of parchment. He was half dressed, and his little black eyes were wide and startled.

"Deekin? What happened?" Half out of her chair, Jaiyan motioned him closer. "Are you…alright..?" Her voice faded as she stared at him.

_Same Deekin_, her mind decided. _Small, skinny kobold. Tail, black eyes, sharp teeth. _"Ah, Deekin..?"

He shuffled his feet, slightly abashed. "Yes, Boss?"

"Deekin Scalesinger," she said, very slowly. "Have you grown _wings?_"

"Yes, Boss."

"Have you grown wings _overnight?_"

"Yes, Boss."

She dropped the chunk of the bread she had nearly crushed in one hand. She stepped up to him, walked around him. Yes, there they were. Two bat-like, leathery, reddish wings, arching out from his shoulders.

"Deekin, you'd better have a damn good explanation for this."

"Does Boss remember Deekin's shoulders hurting yesterday?"

She sighed. "Well, yes. But _my_ shoulders were hurting yesterday, and _I_ haven't grown wings."

"Well…" One foot traced patterns on the floor. "Does Boss remember Deekin saying that he might have dragon blood?"

She frowned, but she did recall. After they had defeated Heurodis, and trekked all the way to Waterdeep before ensconcing themselves at The Yawning Portal for a good month or so, Deekin had put forward the suggestion that maybe he had dragon blood in his ancestry.

"Yes….I laughed, didn't I?"

"Yep."

"Yes…it appears I may have been wrong."

"Yep."

She reached out, touched one of his wings gently. "Why would it happen over one night, though?"

He shrugged. "Maybe wings be prickly and uncomfortable to grow into properly."

"Especially if you've never had them before." She grinned, and the grin turned into a helpless laugh. "You look…wonderful."

His teeth flashed in a kobold version of a smile. "Deekin likes them. Sure Boss likes them?"

She touched the arch of his other wing. "Yes. Yes, I do. They suit you."

"Deekin wonders one thing?"

With her amazed gaze still fixed on his wings, she nodded. "What's that?"

"How Boss going to explain this everyone else?"


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer still applies - Bioware owns all, except Jaiyan._

_**Chapter Nine – The Isle of the Maker**_

Jaiyan hopped jauntily onto Cavallas' boat, Deekin following along behind. Valen was already there, as she predicted, pacing the length of the deck, his tail snapping. She called across to him as she slung her packs down. "You look like an irritated cat."

He paused, and she almost saw his hackles rise. "What?"

"Never mind." She helped Deekin up the gangplank and nodded to Cavallas. As the boat slid silently away from the wharf, she noticed Valen's furious gaze on the kobold and his newest acquisition. "Is there a problem?"

Valen coughed. "He did not have wings yesterday."

"Nope," Deekin said proudly. "Deekin grew them last night."

The tiefling nodded slowly. "Right."

"We think he's part dragon," Jaiyan offered, grinning. "Maybe he's going to be a…what do they call those sorcerer-bard types, Deeks? The ones with dragon blood?"

"Red Dragon Disciples."

"Yes. Those."

Valen kept staring at the kobold. "What if you're not descended from a red dragon?"

Deekin cocked his head. "What?"

"Well, if you were descended from a white dragon, or a blue dragon, then you wouldn't be a _Red_ Dragon Disciple."

"Well, Deekin cannot be _Blue_ Dragon Disciple," the kobold sniffed. "Doesn't sound posh enough, Deekin thinks. But Old Master was white dragon, so maybe that would be alright."

"Yes, but Tymofarrar also reeked of week-old mushrooms, ate apple pie in human form when he thought no one was looking, and thought the high-point of nobility was writing a journal in human blood."

Deekin nodded solemnly. "Boss has good point. Deekin must be descended from red dragons."

Valen gazed skyward. "I wish I'd never asked."

Jaiyan giggled. "So, this _other_ mysterious island. Tell me all about it. I'm agog to know."

"I know little," he answered. "My scouts reported unusual amounts of movement. Unusual since the island is generally an empty lump of rock."

"Anything else?"

"Just that there is some kind of dungeon, or tunnels perhaps." He shrugged. "It could be nothing."

"Hmm." She plucked idly at a loose thread on one cuff. "The last _could be nothing_ we investigated turned out to be cave absolutely full of very big, very green trolls. Remember that one, Deekin?"

"Deekin remembers. Mayor said town be menaced by small creatures."

She nodded and groaned. "He did too, the slippery bastard. So we went charging out, prepared for maybe kobolds, or goblins or something. I walked right into the cave with my sword half-drawn and smack into this ugly nine-foot-tall troll." She shuddered. "My clothes stank of troll blood for weeks."

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Dark water lapped at the rock shore. Flat and uninviting, the island stretched away into gloom that was blurred with swathes of mist. The prow bumped against a long, thin expanse of stone, jutting into the river. Jaiyan jumped over the side and scowled when three inches of water flooded over her boots. Valen followed after reminding Cavallas to wait for them, regardless of how long they might be.

She sloshed her way along the stone spar, and glanced down into the forbidding black water. Small pale things flickered and darted, diving deep. "There are fish down here?"

"Yes," Valen replied. "And other bigger, nastier things that swim. Hurry up."

She rolled her eyes at him and quickened pace, splashing her way up to where the shoreline slanted up. Deekin hopped up beside, shaking water from his boots. "Deekin needs new boots, Boss. Deekin's feet be all wet."

"You're a kobold. Why do you even wear boots?"

"Deekin be _civilized_, Boss."

She grinned. "I forgot. We'll get you some back at the city."

The path leveled out, revealing an almost entirely flat surface, wide and smooth. Further away, a small fire burned, and Jaiyan could see tents, and stocky, cloaked figures moving about.

"Duergar camp," Valen supplied.

"Dangerous?"

"Perhaps." His blue eyes narrowed. "Small groups of duergar tend to be slavers or traders."

"Grey dwarves better not try to enslave Deekin," the kobold declared.

Valen snorted. "We couldn't _sell_ you to them."

Jaiyan smirked admiringly. "My goodness. Valen Shadowbreath, was that a joke?"

His mouth quirked almost into a smile. "Be on your guard."

With one hand on her sword, she advanced on the camp, careful to let her footfalls ring out loud enough to be obvious.

Around the fluttering fire, shouts rose, and one of the duergar leaped to her feet. Clad in solid armour, an axe in both hands, she approached slowly. Her expression, on an angled, gruff face, was carefully neutral. "Hold there, adventurers. What brings you to this isle?"

"Rumours," Jaiyan answered easily.

"Aye? Well, there'd be plenty of rumours that can take your head off in the dungeon below, if that's your fancy."

Reminded inexplicably of Dorna, the blunt-spoken, loyal dwarf she knew in Hilltop, Jaiyan grinned. "We're stupid that way. What else do you know about it?"

The duergar lowered her axes. "We came here on promise of treasure, but that dungeon is filled with walking stone giants. Clean sweep a man in half in one blow."

"You mean golems?"

"I do," the duergar answered. "Used to be a wizard, or some such, created golems to be his toys. Like all wizards he had his pretty trinkets, but something must have happened to him."

"So now the golems run riot."

"Aye, they do." The duergar woman nodded sympathetically. "You're welcome to go on down, we've had no luck and no wish to risk more of us."

"Thanks." Jaiyan inclined her head. "Good hunting."

Past the duergar camp, the straight line of the island was broken by a single, square rock formation, which proved on closer inspection to have a door and a shattered lock. A quick glance inside showed a corridor, sloping down, the dust smudged with footprints.

Jaiyan drew her sword, collected herself, and caught Valen giving her a slightly bemused look. "Yes?"

He shook his head. "You handled that well."

"They're just dwarves. I like dwarves. Good drinkers."

Valen's gaze sharpened. "You do realise they'll ambush us the instant we emerge from this gods-forsaken dungeon."

Jaiyan grinned. "I'd be almost disappointed if they didn't."

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The first long stretch of corridor was oddly empty. Huge chunks of stone were missing from the ceiling, and the air was thick with dust. Not liking the silence, Jaiyan led with wary, coiled steps, half-expecting some terrible trap at any moment. Another heavy door led into a wide hall, scattered with rubble and broken wood. Here, the pillars bracing the roof were missing blocks, or whole sections of stone, and she eyed them dubiously. She skirted past them quickly, heading for a smaller door.

She grabbed the handle, twisted, and scowled as it rattled. "I _hate_ picking locks."

"Is that because of that time Boss got it wrong and nearly got spiked by spike trap?"

"That had more to do with me not noticing the trap in front of the locked door."

Valen leaned around her. "Give me some room."

Still grumbling, she moved away. Her frown vanished as she watched him pull a set of thieves' tools from his pack. His large hands seemed unusually agile as he gently teased the lock open. "I never knew you could do that."

With his eyes still on the lock, Valen slipped a second thin lockpick in, slowly twisted it until something clicked on the other side. "I have my talents."

Jaiyan gave the door an expectant push, and smiled as it swung inwards. "You certainly do. Thanks, Valen."

He coughed, and she could have sworn she saw his cheeks colour slightly. Hiding her grin, she carefully stepped into a small room stacked with chests and boxes. Deekin darted in behind her, and his magelight sputtered over a tiled floor as his eyes widened. "There be treasure in here?"

"That or dead rats." Jaiyan chose a chest with a half-rotten lid and heaved it open. "Ooh, the former for once." Wrapped in silk, rows of gems gleamed up at her. Alongside a particularly nice sapphire, she found a gold bracelet embedded with diamonds, and rings heavy with rubies.

She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and sighed. "I feel like a little girl playing dress-up."

"Playing pretty as a princess?" Valen crouched beside her, used the haft of his flail to lever open a stubborn crate.

"Hah." She yanked the bracelet off, eyed the sparkle of light across the diamonds, and swiftly tidied it and an assortment of other jewels away into her pack. "Found anything nice?"

"Deekin found harp!"

Without looking, Jaiyan answered, "You already have at least three instruments. No more."

"_Boss_…"

"Get stuff we can sell, Deeks. Small things we can carry easily."

"Hmph. Boss be stifling Deekin's creative muse again."

Beside her, Valen lifted a sheathed dagger from the crate. The blade was narrow and ice-thin, the hilt elegantly engraved.

"That's beautiful," she remarked.

He turned the blade, watched the magelight flare off its keen edge. "And far too small for me." The dagger snapped back into the sheath, and he offered to her, hilt-first. "You should have it."

"Me?"

"It's a perfect build and weight for a second blade, my lady."

She closed a hand around the hilt. "Yes, but I…don't do second blades."

"Or shields, I've noticed." He crooked a red eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Boss don't like shields. Boss think shields be heavy and silly."

She shrugged, vaguely self-conscious. "I like my left hand free so I can hit people if I need to."

Valen's gaze never strayed from her face. "Keep it. In case you lose your sword, or you left hand misses. It never hurts to have a third option, my lady."

She busied herself threading the straps through her belt, avoiding him. "Says the man who only carries a flail."

Valen shrugged lightly. "My flail _is_ my third option."

"Also your second and first. I get it." She eyed the huge weapon, left leaning against a crate. "Does it have a name?"

Something changed in his expression, some subtle darkening. "Devil's Bane."

"Sounds like there's a story behind that. Maybe you'll have to tell me."

His gaze shifted, and she saw quickly-veiled sadness. "Someday, my lady. Someday."

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More corridors wound deeper down, spiraling far beneath the island surface, and Jaiyan reflected dryly that they were underground in the Underdark. She took another pace over fine dust, and froze. "Hear that?"

Valen tilted his head. "Yes."

She drew in a deep breath and listened again; rhythmic, approaching footsteps that shook small tremors through the floor. "Sounds very, very big."

A huge shadow swooped around the corner up ahead, and Deekin's magelight spilled over the massive contours of a stone golem.

Jaiyan stared up at the thing's impossibly broad stone chest, and further up, to the eerie face with its empty stone eyes. "Oh gods…_very_ big."

The golem kept coming, each dogged step pounding into the floor. Its shadow slanted across her, and she found herself gazing blankly up at the stone monstrosity. _How in all the worlds can I hit that? I can barely reach past its knee!_

"Jaiyan," Valen shouted. "_Move!_"

She flinched and saw that the golem had raised one arm. The huge fist clenched and plunged down at her. Suddenly galvanised, she dived away from it, and its fist smashed against the wall. Rubble showered down over her shoulders. She pushed on, darting ahead of the lumbering giant. Valen lunged in, spun his flail up at the golem's arms. Metal cracked against stone, and the golem wavered, stunned. One huge hand came sweeping down, raked through the air an inch above the tiefling's head. A white arrow of magic whined overhead, cascaded in a shower of sparks against the golem's neck.

"Again!" Jaiyan shouted. She heard Deekin furiously chanting, turned to gauge the golem's next move.

The stone giant turned ponderously, striking down at Valen. He leaped to one side, flung the flail up. The spines on the weapon caught against rough indentations on the golem's arm. It wrenched away, yanking the flail with it.

Valen snarled and heaved.

And the other huge stone arm swung round, swept him off his feet.

A fireball exploded against the monster's stone face, and it staggered. Furious, Valen recovered his balance. Jaiyan dodged around to the golem's other side, planning to distract it long enough for him to find his flail.

But the golem turned again, faster than she anticipated, scything both fists at her. Valen hurled himself forward, grabbed her. Dragged her down onto the floor as the golem's arms arced overhead. He rolled off her, still moving, and launched himself at his dropped flail.

Jaiyan looked up in time to see the golem bearing down on him. "Valen!"

He snatched up the flail, turned. He did not quite have enough space to heft the weapon; the golem was too close, stone hands swooping down towards him. One fist hammered into his breastplate, knocking him back off his feet again and into the wall behind.

The force of the blow snapped his head back, and Jaiyan saw his expression of dazed fury.

She hurled herself between the lumbering monster and the tiefling. She heaved his flail up, swearing viciously at the weight. She braced her legs while more white spears of magic rained onto the golem's shoulders. Teeth gritted, eyes half closed, she spun wildly and flung the flail up towards the golem as it leaned over her.

The impact numbed her arms to the elbow. Somehow, she held herself upright long enough to see half of the golem's head come off in an explosion of dust and dirt and stone fragments.

Laboriously, the huge stone figure toppled over, crashing down onto the floor.

Jaiyan exhaled sharply and let go of the flail. The huge, unwieldy weapon clanged down beside the broken golem. Feeling horribly shaken, Jaiyan dropped to her knees beside Valen. "Are you alright?"

He was livid. "What in the Nine Hells did you think you were _doing?_"

"Thank you, Valen, I'm fine too," she snapped.

He made it to his feet, still bristling. "Why didn't you run, you stupid woman? The simple, logical, _easiest_ thing to do would have been to run. But _no_, you have to try and pick up _my_ flail, and take on a twelve-foot golem, _by yourself._"

She glowered back at him, still awash with adrenaline. "_Your_ flail? It's so precious that no mere mortal should touch it? Is that it?"

He folded his arms. His blue eyes were vivid with rage. "You could have been killed. What were you trying to achieve, exactly?"

Jaiyan clenched her fists and reined in the urge to hit him. "I was trying to _save_ you, you idiot. Or does that offend your sensibilities as well?" She spun on her heel, stalked across to where Deekin waited. "Come on."

Valen caught up with her further down the corridor. "Jaiyan?"

She stopped and fixed him with a withering stare. "What?"

"I…" He wrestled with his pride a moment longer. "I'm sorry. Alright?"

"Ouch. That sounded like it _hurt_."

"I mean it," he growled. "I just…you could have been _killed_. And then what would I tell the Seer?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh, that's all you care about? The rebuke you'd get from the Seer?"

He flushed angrily. "_No_," he hissed. "I did not want to lose you in there. Happy?"

"I'm stunned by your compassion." Her eyes sparkled wickedly. "Next time I'll let you save your own tail. That flail of yours is ridiculously heavy." She tipped her head on one side. "Truce?"

His eyes softened. "Truce."

Jaiyan sheathed her sword. "Good. So is that your frightening temper, or did you keep it calm just for me?"

"Who told you I had a temper?"

She grinned. "Nathyrra, if you must know. But it was definitely a warning, rather than gossip."

"You're mocking me again, aren't you?"

"Perhaps a little. As long as my tiefling doesn't mind?"

His expression turned challenging. "Since when was I _your_ tiefling?"

"You mean you don't want to be? I'm crushed. I've never had one before." _ What did you say that for? _Some sane part of her mind railed. To distract herself, she reached forward, touched the deep, scuffed gash on his armour. "Does that hurt?"

He shrugged. "It can wait."

"You don't have to pretend you're immune to pain, you know. It doesn't impress me. Look, let's hole up in that storeroom we found and get you patched up."

"I'm fine, really."

"Yes, the noise of the golem meeting your chest was _so_ soft and tender. I want you able to fight, Valen," she said briskly. "Mainly because I have no intention of ever trying to pick up your flail again."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she turned sharply, with Deekin padding obediently after her. He shrugged again and followed her, checking the dusty shadows for movement.

In the storeroom, Jaiyan shoved an iron-banded chest up against the door. "Alright, off with that armour." She joined him, motioned him down onto the floor. She saw him wince as he worked the clasps on his shoulders open. "See? I was right again," she told him absently.

Carefully, Jaiyan helped him loosen the straps buckles and lift the breastplate and the under-padding off. Before he could protest, she tugged his shirt up. Her cold hands against his skin made him flinch, and she tried not to stare, or notice how his muscles tensed beneath her hands. "Coward," she muttered.

In the dim light, she could see the huge bruises left by the golem's fist. Gently, she probed his ribs until he shifted away from her. "No bones broken, then." She turned, produced a healing potion from her pack. "Here, drink this."

He drained the contents. "Was taking my armour off entirely necessary?"

"Well, I did get to have a good look at your chest." Over his startled glare, she added, "I didn't want to just give you one potion and hope you had no broken ribs. You'd have been in agony later, that way."

He heaved the under-padding back on. "I would have been fine."

"Stop being so _male_." She turned away, aware that she suddenly felt light-headed. Behind her, she heard the small metallic sounds of fasteners closing again. _Alright, it's safe to look again. Not that that stopped you before_. She yanked her pack open and dug around for a waterskin. _He was hurt_, she thought, desperately rationalizing. _We help people when they're hurt. Even if that means almost ripping their shirts off? _

She growled and yanked the stopper out of the waterskin.

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

She heard the hurried noise of his quill scraping. "You think _crimson_ be best way to describe your face? Or maybe _burgundy_? No…burgundy be a wine…"

She stared at the floor and considered the chances of it opening up in a chasm of flaming death and engulfing her. "Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Be quiet."

He sniffed at her over the top of his parchment. "Deekin just asking."


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer still applies of course, and Jaiyan still belongs to me._

_**Chapter Ten – Civil War**_

Jaiyan woke suddenly, the only sound the thumping of blood in her ears. Beneath her, cold rock, unchanged from when she had curled up and tried to sleep. On her left side, Deekin wheezed gently, buried in his bedroll. Near the storeroom door, Valen sat with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up, sitting third watch. A small, almost burned-down fire glowed near his feet.

She raked sweat-damp hair away from her eyes and sat up.

Valen's head turned. "Can't sleep?"

"No…bad dream." Still shaken, she kicked the blanket away. "The night before we went down into Undermountain, I dreamed of a drow woman. I woke up and got attacked by a drow woman."

"Not the same one in the dream?"

"No. But…" She shivered, wrapped her arms around her knees. "Tonight I dreamed of the same drow woman."

He frowned. "Have you always had this kind of dream?"

"No." She laughed, a little helplessly. "Usually I'm about as prescient as moss."

He shifted, and the firelight touched the sharp planes of his face. "What happened in your dream?"

"I was standing in front of a cave, like in the first dream. The drow woman appeared behind me, and told me I must be special indeed to have come this far and still be breathing." She shrugged, still feeling some cold, uncomfortable sensation prickling along her skin. "Then she smiled, and I woke up."

"I know little of such things," Valen said slowly. "Perhaps you should speak of this to the Seer."

"Perhaps." She shook herself again and mustered up a smile. "How long have you known the Seer?"

"Some while now. Months…maybe a year, maybe more. I'm…not really sure."

She sat opposite him, held her hands over the meager fire. "Care to explain?"

He grimaced. "When I arrived here, I was…not in an entirely clear state of mind."

She saw that unbidden flicker of sadness in him again, turning his blue eyes dark. "When _I_ say that, it usually means I've miscounted exactly how many ales I've had. What do _you_ mean by it?"

The line of his mouth was severe. "I am not sure that I could explain it properly."

"Try me," she said lightly.

For a long moment he stared at her. "I…perhaps some other time."

"Valen…"

He shook his head. "Forgive me, but not now."

She sighed, and felt inexplicably frustrated. "Fine. Have it your way."

"My lady, I do not mean to…"

"I know." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Talk to me about something else, then. Distract me."

He blinked at her. "Distract you? How?"

Several treacherous ideas burst across her thoughts, but she kept her gaze on the fire. "I don't know. Let me ask you some questions."

"My lady," he said, his tone sombre. "Did I not already make it clear that I do not wish to speak of personal things?"

"Yes, and I'm respecting that," she answered. _For now, at least_. "Just…I don't know. What's your favourite drink?"

"Red wine," he replied wearily.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Why?"

"I don't know." She grinned at him. "You just look like you'd prefer those big tankards of ale that are about the size of your average gnome. Or maybe one of those nasty clear spirits that burns a hole from your mouth to your stomach."

The slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What's your favourite?"

"Ale. Of any kind, colour, or flavour. I'm easy to please. As long as there's no obvious silt in it." She leaned her chin on her fist and considered. "Favourite colour?"

"I don't have a favourite colour."

"Yes, you do. Even dour tieflings have favourite colours."

"I don't."

She giggled. "Gods, you look so _serious_. How about red?"

He arched a scarlet eyebrow. "Red?"

"Or green."

"No." His tail twitched. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Blue," she answered, without thinking. "Favourite kind of ballad?"

"One not sung by your kobold."

Suspiciously, she searched his staid expression. "You're making fun of me."

"My lady is too quick to be defensive." He leaned forward, and the firelight swam in his red hair. "Yours?"

"When I'm drunk, the soppy, tragic kind." She smiled, slightly abashed. "The ones where you can cry into your tankard without being laughed at, because the entire tavern's crying with you."

"I'd imagine, subject matter aside, most of your kobold's performances would achieve that end."

She glared at him, and her grin widened despite herself. "Cruel, cruel tiefling."

Ignoring her, he asked, "And when you're not drunk?"

"Oh, the rousing, slay-the-dragon kind. A good chorus, a catchy tune, lots of blood, treasure and a cheerful ending that involves the hero getting to keep the treasure."

He picked up a chunk of wood chopped from one of the crates, dropped it into the fire. "Does the hero get to keep the maiden fair as well?"

Jaiyan pouted. "Did I say the hero _wasn't_ the maiden fair?"

"Ah. Forgive me." He found another lump of wood, snapped it in half, and let both pieces fall into the embers. "Do you often need to cry into tankards at the end of tragic songs?"

She stared at him, startled. The smile died on her lips. "No," she said. "That is…no. It was just…why are you asking me this?"

His blue eyes were unwavering. "Where are you from, my lady?"

"Oh, so you can be all mysterious and stubborn, and I can't?" She folded her arms and seethed. "Enigmatic because you've got horns, I take it?" She exhaled sharply, aware of the childish whine in her voice. "I'm from a very small, very boring, very unimportant village," she said, stiffly. "My father wanted me married off to the first rich merchant who might give me so much as a second glance. My mother was less enthusiastic about it."

"What happened?" he asked softly.

She glared across the fire at him, but her resolve to be obstinate buckled. "A trader came through the town. He had horses with him, and some servants, and chests with jewels. He wore furs and long robes." Bright as a blade, she recalled that day; the merchant had been tall and ascetic, his features thin beneath a fall of wheat-sheaf hair. "My father had already cornered a couple of merchants who'd been through the past season. This one he really liked the look of."

Valen tipped his head to one side. "His wealth?"

"I suppose. It seems they must have come to some kind of agreement, because my mother woke me up that night." The memory rose up in her mind, her mother slipping into her room, bidding her be silent and follow while the house was dark. "She gave me a beautiful set of leathers to wear – she must've treated them and hidden them. She took me outside, and I remember that it was very cold." Her gaze slipped down and rested on Valen's pale hands, clasped on his knees. "She gave me fifty gold coins, a sword, a cloak, some food, and her blessing."

Jaiyan looked up at him and realized she was trembling. She remembered her mother's face, taut with weariness and pain as she pressed the coin bag into her hands. She had fled into woods thick with snow, and walked until dawn, her feet and head heavy with exhaustion. "So. There it is."

"And afterwards?"

She shook her head. "Why are you asking me this?"

This time, _his_ gaze flicked away. "Because I wanted to know."

"I thought you didn't trust me," she snapped, and immediately regretted it. "Oh, gods. Valen, look…"

"You're right." His expression closed over again, becoming entirely rigid. "I don't. Go to sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to move on."

Normally, she would have railed at him, let her temper take over and indulge in a good, exhausting slanging match. Instead, entirely surprised at herself, she slipped back into her blankets, chewing guiltily at the inside of her cheek. The stone felt cold and unwelcoming beneath the bedroll, and she could hear the hiss and crackle of the fire, and the occasional soft sound as he shifted. _Stupid ornery tiefling_, she thought angrily. _Hypocrite. Arrogant. Won't tell but wants to ask_. Still simmering, she rolled over, pointedly faced the wall, and tried to will herself back to sleep.

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Jaiyan stalked down rough-cut stone steps, sword drawn, and trying to ignore Valen's light-footed tread behind. She had persevered with not speaking to him for over four hours, and was slightly perturbed that he seemed not to have noticed. _And now_, her mind told her critically, _all you can notice is how light he walks given how big he is._

They had seen few golems since their first encounter. The sounds of great stone giants had shaken the floor, but she had decided on cowardice over heroics, and they had played a nerve-jangling avoidance game. Ducking into empty rooms, or bolting back up steps, or even crowding into alcoves and praying, they had evaded the stone golems until a long, steep staircase had plunged down into a tangle of passageways with a lower ceiling and less dust. Lumps of broken golems littered the floor though, some metal, some granite, some odd and red and sticky, and reminding her of nothing more than slabs of rotting meat.

"Wait." Valen's hand came down on her shoulder, and she jumped. "Do you hear that?"

Expecting the bone-shaking steps of a stone golem, she tensed. "No," she said finally. She glared up at him, and noticed that his ears were slender and pointed. "You have elf ears."

He blinked rapidly. "I do not."

She lifted her hand, went to reach up and touch one, and remembered that she was not talking to him. "Are you part elf?"

"No," he grated. "I am all tiefling. My ears are nothing like an elf's ears. Elf ears are much longer, much thinner, and tilt back more."

Despite herself, she grinned. "You've answered that question before, then?"

A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, but he shook his head. "This is not the time. _Listen_."

"I told you. I can't hear anything."

Deekin hopped past the tiefling. "Actually, Deekin hears….footsteps."

Jaiyan's hand tightened on her sword. "Stone golem?"

"No." Valen scanned the corridor. "Too light."

She stilled her breathing and listened; and she heard it, the slightest tap and slide of something against the stone. She turned, inched her way down the corridor, heading for the sharp bend ahead. A shadow sloped across the wall, and she found herself staring at a silver golem. Roughly man-shaped, and with an odd intelligence burning in its deeply hewn eyes. The golem paused, and seemed to look her up and down. Behind, she heard leather creak as Valen braced himself.

"You are…strangers here," the golem said, its voice strangely light. "Can you help us?"

Jaiyan stared. "_Help_ you? We've already been attacked."

The golem's eyes flickered. "Not by us. By a stone one?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Of course. Is there not a difference between you and some other human who would attack on sight?"

She frowned. "Perhaps. What kind of help are we talking about here?"

Deekin's magelight edged the golem's broad shoulders as it shrugged. "I will grant you safe passage, and you will see."

She exchanged a helpless look with Valen. "Alright."

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Presented to a room full of unsettling silver golems, Jaiyan squared her shoulders. They stood silently in waiting ranks, their heads turned towards her, and their eyes glowing. The air tasted metallic, and she could hear Deekin's feet scraping nervously on the stone behind her. She knew – had been forced to read about in Hilltop, she recalled – that golems were not inherently evil, merely constructs created and controlled by wizards and the like. And yet, whatever arcane spark gave life to these wordless, watching things made her skin feel rough and chilled.

In the very centre of the chamber towered a golden construct, and his eyes were shrewd and observant. "Strangers to this island. Why are you here?"

"You know of the Valsharess?" Valen demanded.

"Ah…we hear rumours. Whispers, from the shadows. This is a drow, yes?" The golden golem stepped forward. "A drow matron who wishes power."

"Over all of the Underdark," Valen continued. "And we seek to see that this does not happen."

"Ah." The golem's eyes flickered. "My name is Ferron, and I must ask for your help."

"How could we possibly help you?" Jaiyan asked suspiciously.

In measured, deep tones, the golden golem explained that the island had once been the laboratory of a wizard, a magic user simply known to his creations as the Maker. Since his disappearance or death, the golems had split into two factions – those who were metal, and those who were flesh; those who wished to leave the island, and those who wished to stay and remain to worship the memory of the Maker.

"And we come in how?"

"To leave this island, we require the power source that will allow us to continue living."

"Where is this power source?" Jaiyan asked, though she was convinced she already knew.

"With our enemies," Ferron said softly. "With Aghaaz."

"So you want the power source brought back and Aghaaz dead?"

"I do not care for such bloodshed, but…I doubt he will give it up easily."

She nodded wearily. "They never do." Her hand tightened on her sword hilt. "Alright. We'll do it, but you have to do something for us."

Ferron tilted his head. "And that would be?"

"We get you your power source, and you offer your support against the Valsharess."

"Why would we do this for you?"

"Because you don't get your power source if you don't," she told him bluntly. "I don't want some sweeping alliance with you. I want you to pledge me some allies to help defend a city, if the Valsharess should attack."

"_When_ the Valsharess attacks," Valen muttered.

Ferron stared at her for a long, thoughtful moment. "Very well," he said at last. "You have our support."

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Following Ferron's map took them spiraling down steep steps and into corridors with high arches and thick scorch marks on the half-crumbling walls. Unsettled, half certain that the ceiling was about to come thumping down at any moment, Jaiyan led, sword drawn.

Valen padded along just behind her. "Have you ever taken on a group of flesh golems at the same time?"

She flung him a withering look. "Absolutely. Right after I killed those two dragons and leveled a dungeon full of ogres."

"Do you take nothing seriously?"

"Very rarely," she mumbled. "What's your point, Valen?"

"This could be dangerous."

"At the moment, _waking up_ is dangerous." She stopped, and he nearly ploughed into her. She turned, still smarting from their confrontation in the storeroom. "What do you suggest, then?"

"Hang back and let me go in front."

"Excuse me?"

His blue eyes blazed. "I do not want a repeat of what happened with the stone golem."

"You mean when _you_ got almost knocked out? You mean when _I_ killed it?" She shook her head. "I understand what you're saying. I get that it's dangerous. But we cannot back down now."

His gaze narrowed. "Why?"

_He's testing me again_, she realized. "Because if the Valsharess is as strong and powerful and has as many followers as you all seem to think, then having a regiment of walking metal monsters has to help, yes?"

His forehead furrowed, as if he was trying to find some fault with her words. "Very well."

"Thank you so much." She marched on, sure her knuckles would be white beneath her gloves. _Great gods above, that man is infuriating_.

Up ahead, the flare of red torches broke the darkness. She gestured to Deekin, and his magelight snuffed out. She could hear heavy footsteps scraping against the floor, and the slight breeze was warm and damp. While the kobold primed his crossbow, she approached the torches and peered ahead, saw only moving shadows.

"Strangers with the smell of metal on them." The voice rasped through the gloom, and the nape of Jaiyan's neck turned cold. "Step forward, and let us see you."

"So much for stealth," she muttered. With Valen shadowing her, and Deekin two steps behind, she stepped warily between the torches, and blinked slowly.

Nearing twelve feet tall, with yellow eyes above a mouth crammed with teeth, a flesh golem stood, watching them with the glare of a hawk. There were more of them, she saw, lining the curved walls of the chamber, their rippling hides pitted and ridged with scars and abrasions. Simply knowing that some wizard had taken it upon himself to sew lumps of dead meat together and weave life into them made Jaiyan's stomach flip over.

"You must be Aghaaz," she said casually.

"Indeed." The huge golem's gaze flicked to Valen. "And you are here for the power source."

Jaiyan slowly raised her sword. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to just hand it over?"

Aghaaz laughed. "So you can take it to that group of traitors? So they can take it away from this island? Away from the memories of the Maker?"

"You don't have to stay here. You could leave as well."

"I would help you under one condition," Aghaaz growled. "Bring me Ferron's head."

Jaiyan chewed at her lower lip. "Ah…let me think…no?"

Aghaaz roared. "Kill them!"

She braced herself as the golem charged at her, jaws snapping open and eyes flaming. Prepared for some dreadful impact, she yelped when Valen shoved her aside. His flail whirred over her head, and slammed into the golem's chest. Aghaaz howled, and his clawed hands scythed down at the tiefling. Who kept moving, using the haft to block the golem's strokes.

Jaiyan rolled up to her feet, feeling somewhat put out. Two crossbow bolts whined past in quick succession, sinking into the throat of the next golem she sighted on. Thwarted again, she snarled, turned, and saw another monster, sidling up behind Valen. "That one's mine," she called. "Go for the others, Deeks."

"Yes, Boss!" Another bolt whizzed past, thumping into a golem's head.

Jaiyan threw herself at her golem, raking her sword across the back of its knees. It howled and spun round, lunging for her with claws and teeth. She bludgeoned past its flailing arms, smacked her pommel against its jaw, and dragged the blade through its throat.

"Boss!"

She whirled, saw three golems circling Deekin. He fired at one, and the bolt sank into its shoulder. The golem growled furiously, but kept moving. Realising how close the others were, Deekin dropped the crossbow and raised his hands.

While he chanted, and his hands began to glow, Jaiyan hurled herself at the injured golem, driving it to its knees. She plunged her sword into its chest, yanked the blade free in time to see bright light explode from Deekin's hands. His spell arced out, smashing the second golem back. Another bolt cracked out, reducing the golem into smoking meat. Jaiyan turned, batted the third golem's hands aside, and drove her sword into its stomach.

"Thanks, Boss!" Still jittery, Deekin flung a new spell at the last of the smaller golems.

Jaiyan jerked her sword out of the dead golem, wincing as blood coated one side of her face. She looked back across the chamber again, saw Valen just as his feet left the ground and his whole body tipped forward in one of those strange, circling attacks that made her feel vaguely jealous and uneasy in equal measure.

His flail blurred through the air and crashed against Aghaaz's neck. The huge golem staggered. Jaiyan bolted past fallen golems, heard Valen grunt as Aghaaz brought one clenched fist down against his chest.

Valen swayed, righted himself. He jumped away from the golem's next lunge and spun the flail above his head with one hand. The flail snapped out sharply, caving in the golem's head, and swinging back around in one terrifyingly quick motion.

Jaiyan stopped, staring speechless as Aghaaz collapsed. "Did you just do that with _one hand?_"

Breathing hard, he turned. As casually, he replaced the flail in its harness across his shoulders and shrugged. "I train a lot."

She eyed the dead golem. "Nicely done."

He inclined his head. "Thank you, my lady."

She prodded Aghaaz with one foot. "Alright. Let's find that power source."

Resting on a stone altar in a small room beyond Aghaaz's chamber, they discovered a long, humming stone that looked to be made of some strange crystal-like material. Jaiyan squinted apprehensively at it. "That thing is _humming_."

She reached out, tentatively tapped it. When it failed to do anything dangerous, she picked it up and stared into its brilliant depths. She glanced up, saw Valen watching her through speculative blue eyes. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Forgive me."

She shrugged. "Then let's go remind Ferron what he promised."


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer is still going - Bioware owns all except Jaiyan. And thanks to everyone who's taking the time to read and review!_

_**Chapter Eleven – The Dark River**_

Jaiyan sat on the boat rail, her sword unsheathed across her knees, and a cleaning rag in her hand. Ferron's face had been peaceful, almost serene, when she had handed across the power source. He and his followers would make their way to Lith My'athar, as promised, and lend their strength and numbers to the Seer's cause.

Her sense of achievement – the first, if she admitted to herself, since she had arrived in Lith My'athar – had been marred when the duergar camped outside the dungeon had tried an old-fashioned ambush. She attempted to palm them off with a handful of coin, but the temptation of the treasure found in the dungeon had proved too much, and they had found themselves fending off another attack. She had felt almost sorry at the speed with which the duergar were cut down – they had been scavengers, not predators, and their fatal mistake was to challenge a tiefling who mowed through them like last year's wheat.

"My lady?"

She tilted the sword, and Valen's reflection swam into focus. "Yes?"

He stepped up beside her, held out a plate with cut bread and cheese and cold rothe meat. "Supper?"

"You read my mind." She sheathed the sword, let it fall beside her pack. She joined him on the deck itself, her back against the rail.

He sat beside her, his knees drawn up, and his tail curled lazily up against his ankles. "I…wanted to thank you."

She tore into the bread. "For what?"

"Talking the golems into an alliance. It will…mean a lot to the Seer."

She shot him a sidelong glance through her eyelashes. His gaze was fixed on the plate, and his brows were knotted. "Good," she answered lightly. "I hope the Seer will be pleased with me."

He coughed. "I was wondering…you told me of how you left your home."

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you would tell me what happened after that?"

She broke off part of the crust and regarded him. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." He turned his head finally. "If you would care to tell me."

"Well." She leaned forward, grabbed her pack. "For this, we're going to need a drink or two." She rummaged around until her hand closed on the neck of the brandy bottle.

Valen's eyebrows rose. "Have you been carting that around?"

She gave the nearly full bottle an experimental shake. "Yes..?"

"Should I ask what else you're carrying in that pack?"

"I'm not the one lugging around a flute, a lute, a harp, a tree's worth of parchment, six ink bottles and the gods know what else."

"How does he manage that?"

She shrugged and yanked the cork out. "I don't know, and I don't want to know." She sniffed the brandy and winced. "This may not be the good stuff, but it is the strong stuff."

"What is it?"

"Peach brandy." She gulped down a mouthful and held on as her eyes watered. "Want some?"

He sighed, but accepted the bottle anyway. After spluttering through a hefty swallow, he prompted, "So, after you left your home?"

"I never thought of it as home," she said thoughtfully. "It was where I slept, ate and grew up, but it wasn't home. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes." His voice held a strange, unreadable note. "Yes. I do."

"I lasted all of six months in the next town I came to. I served drinks at a tavern, and spent too much time getting into screaming arguments with drunk farmers who thought it was acceptable to stick their hands up my skirt because I brought them their ale." She shrugged, and realized that it still felt brittle.

"You were…hurt?" he asked carefully.

"Oh, gods, _no_. Never that. Just wandering hands, or the occasional smack on the behind." She shrugged, and tried to ignore the sudden flare in his eyes. "One night, there was this group of mercenaries."

Tall and lean and strong, she remembered; or at least they had seemed that way to her. In gleaming armour and carrying swords with elegant ease, and they had paid for all their drinks and food and left her a handful of coin for herself, without expecting anything more from her. They had been boisterous without being rowdy, and their leader had been a broad-shouldered man with coal-black hair and piercingly green eyes.

"You wanted to be like them?"

She laughed. "I suppose. I didn't think of it like that at the time. After the innkeeper finally had enough of me in the taproom, he sent me into the stables. One night, I got into a fight with a soldier who didn't like the way I was with his horse."

Valen frowned. "I can't quite picture you being unkind to a horse."

"That's the point. He was, I wasn't, and I was very vocal about how I didn't like the way he whipped the poor creature all the way into the stable yard. Well, I was young and angry and tired of being the stable girl, and it turned into a fight." Her cheeks were warm, from the brandy, or the memory, or both. "He had a sword and a riding crop, and I grabbed the hay fork from the rack, and tried to feed him his own teeth."

Valen laughed, not forced, and startlingly loud above the soft rushing of the river. "Did you succeed?"

She grimaced. "Not really. He laid me out flat and was about to really hide me when those self-same mercenaries appeared. Coincidence, chance, whatever you want to call it. They saw the whole thing, and hauled him off and gave him a royal thrashing. After that, the man in charge asked me if I'd ever heard of a place called Hilltop."

She had been barely seventeen, and looking for any way out; handed directions and a name, she had spent the last of her gold on a borrowed horse and fled further north, making for the small township of Hilltop, and the academy governed by the Harper agent, Drogan.

"He was a good master," she said quietly, remembering. "He put up with me for a good two and a half years or so, teaching me how to actually use the sword my mother had given me."

"You cared for him?"

"Yes, I did. He drove me mad, and I think I did the same to him. But in the end, we could sit and have a talk and a drink together, and laugh." She swallowed past the sudden thickness in her throat. "I used to hate him after he put me through sword drill. I remember once, I shrieked at him that I was too small – he had me paired up against a friend of his, a big part-orcish mercenary who was even bigger than you. But he made me go through with it, and afterwards, I was glad."

He took the brandy back, tipped it up. "Did you win?"

She giggled. "Hah…no. I was beaten black and blue. But I matched most of his strokes. I hit him almost as much as he hit me. The problem being, of course, that he could hit a _lot_ harder." She pressed her lips together as more giggles escaped. "And afterwards, Drogan scraped me up off the floor, dusted me down, patted my face, and told me to be ready at dawn to go out into the woods and kill goblins." Her shoulders shook with inappropriate laughter. "Gods. I _hated_ him that winter."

Valen gave her a strange look. "Are you…alright?"

"Yes." She nodded briskly and snatched the bottle from him. "Yes…sorry."

"What happened to Drogan?"

"Oh." She took another swig. "He died."

"I didn't know him, or you when it happened. But, if it's worth anything, I'm sorry."

She shrugged and blinked. "Thanks. So, what about you? Going to tell me anything in return?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "What do you want to know?"

She raised the bottle to her lips again, giving herself time to think. She did not want to push him too far, but nor did she want to remain entirely ignorant. "Well…if you wouldn't mind answering, I'd like to know what a tiefling is."

"I'm sorry?"

Her cheeks reddened. "And now I sound completely stupid. I'm actually being serious. I don't know what a tiefling is."

He gazed at her through those unreadable blue eyes. "You don't?"

"No." Her hands tightened around the bottle, and she stared at the planks on the deck. "I'll admit, I spent most of my time in Hilltop bashing things with a sword rather than reading books. Stories, yes. But lore books about who is who and why they're like that? I preferred to hide in the library and re-read that one about the hero who killed a dragon by running up its spine and ramming his sword through its neck."

Valen's gaze did not shift away. "You truly do not know what a tiefling is?"

She grinned at him. "Someone with a handsome set of horns?"

"You're joking, my lady."

"No. You're really quite handsome." She leaned her chin on her hands, hiding her smile as he flushed. She was aware that the brandy lent her the courage to say such things, but the colour in his cheeks was worth it.

"Thank you, my lady." He appeared lost for a moment, eyes fixing on the empty air in front of him. "My mother bore the child of a cambion. A creature that is half demon; that makes me part demon, myself." He looked piercingly at her. "Does that bother you?"

"No. Should it?" She swallowed, let the drink sear down her throat. "I prefer to judge a man by his actions, not his blood."

His smile was slow in response, as if he had expected a different answer. "Thank you, my lady."

She passed the brandy back across, and felt the brush of his fingers against hers. "So what does that mean for you? Apart from the horns and the tail, I mean?"

"It means that I fight against rage and the fear of losing myself to it. It means that my nature is to hurt, and kill, and lose control, but I do not want to."

There was a low, husky note in his voice that wrenched at her. "Always..?"

"Yes. It is better, now. Controllable, for the most part. But…it was not always so."

"I…don't know what to say." She stared at him, at the shadows in his hooded blue eyes. "Saying sorry seems patronizing. Not saying anything would seem like I don't care."

His head turned, and he pressed the bottle into her hands. "And you do care?"

"I care," she said, softly. "I may not understand, though. What does it feel like?"

"A compulsion." The distance returned to his gaze. "A compulsion to _hurt_. Do you know what the Blood Wars are?"

She shifted against the rail. "Not really."

"Demons and their ilk are known as Tanar'ri," he said slowly. "Devils are Baatezu."

"And they're at war."

"Yes. Eternally, brutally, and to the point where those of us who carry their blood are called into it. My blood knows what I should be doing."

She searched his pale face, saw only pain. "What is that?"

"Killing. Killing Baatezu for preference, but I don't think demons are all that picky."

She frowned. "But you're…what, quarter demon?"

"Yes."

She tried to make sense of it, and could not quite. "If you're only quarter part demon, why does it feel so strong?"

He laughed, without much humour. "I don't know. I only know that it does."

"So…where are you from?"

This time, the tone of his laughter changed, became real. "Sigil," he answered. "The City of Doors."

"See? Was that so hard?" Another gulp of brandy, and she shuddered. "Maybe sometime you'll tell me about it?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I'd like that."

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Curled in blankets below decks, Jaiyan turned over and tried to sleep. She could hear Deekin snoring at the foot of the bunk, and the occasional leathery sound as his wings rustled. She flopped back against the pillow and sighed. She could feel the pull of the dark water beneath the hull, and the knowledge of the black river and the endless caverns above chilled her.

Every time her eyes closed, she saw Valen's face, and his expression as he confessed his heritage; the sharp challenge in his eyes as he asked if it mattered.

_Does it? _Even now, after stewing sleeplessly for the gods knew how many hours, she was not sure.

She had long ago decided the world was a place of strange and bizarre things, and generally considered herself fairly accepting. Her opinions of people tended to be based upon whether or not they planned to kill her, rather than where they came from, or what their heritage might be.

And besides, she had traveled with Deekin for months.

She smirked to herself and turned over again.

Still, he was part _demon_. Every tale she remembered from childhood painted such creatures of infernal blood as inescapably, irrevocably evil.

_No, he's not evil_, she thought. _He's infuriating, surly, arrogant, and bad-tempered, but not evil_. _And besides, most scary stories with demons in don't mention that they have ridiculously red hair and that they can sulk like children. _

_Stop it. Stop justifying._

Frustrated with herself, she kicked the blankets off, and froze as Deekin snuffled. Cautiously, she edged off the bunk and padded barefoot to the door. Still clad in the old tunic and leggings she liked sleeping in, she ventured back out onto the deck, into cool, slightly damp air.

Valen was still sitting at the rail, his head tipped back, and his eyes half closed. She approached him, and noticed that he still had the bottle of brandy, and that it appeared somewhat diminished. "Have you burned out the back of your throat with that yet?"

He jumped and glared through loose red hair at her. "You move quietly when you want to."

"So do you." She sat beside him, hooked up the bottle. "Couldn't sleep."

"Bad dreams?"

"No. I never even got that far." She stared at the pale brandy. "Tell me about Sigil."

A faint smile turned his mouth. "It is the city of cities. Ruled over by the Lady of Pain herself, and a city of many mysteries. There are people and demons, monsters and slaves, creatures and wizards, all walking its streets and staring at its sky that is not truly a sky. A planewalker is not a true planewalker until he has seen the winding streets of Sigil."

She took a pull from the bottle. "It is a wondrous place, then?"

"Wondrous, and terrible." His blue eyes were distant, remembering. "It is a place where full-blood demons walk the streets alongside planar travelers and sorcerers."

"And you were born there?"

"Yes." Some shadow passed across his face, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry. You…wanted to hear about something magical, yes?"

"Not if it's not true," she said softly. "What were you going to say?"

"Sigil is beautiful," he murmured. "But also cruel. Enticing, and pitiless. I was…my mother was a woman who…worked for a female demon. A demonness, I suppose."

The brandy swirled down Jaiyan's throat. "What did she do?"

Valen's forehead creased. "She was a courtesan. She sold her flesh in exchange for some form of protection."

She wanted to squeeze his hand, but the set cast to his face convinced her otherwise. Instead, she merely passed the brandy across again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"I know," he said, too quickly. "She…I know my father was a cambion. I know he must have been a customer. That is all I know."

_And my father was a drunk who drove two daughters away and beat my mother_, she thought. "You never met him."

"No." His head turned, and he stared at her. "Does that bother you?"

"Valen…" She pulled the bottle out of his hands. "No more of this for you. It's making you maudlin. No, it doesn't bother me. I listened to my father beating my mother most weeks. Most nights, if I'm truly honest."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Really?"

"Yes, really. My sister was the smart one. She left years before me." She eyed the brandy speculatively before pouring a good measure down her throat. "Clever girl sneaked out with a merchant train on their way south. I like to think that's she filthy rich in Calimshan and married to a nice boy who adores her."

_And she's probably whoring herself out to nice boys not as far away from Calimshan_, some treacherous, cynical thought suggested.

"What was her name?" Valen asked.

"Calienna. She was the pretty one. I was the one who was supposed to be a son, so I got the name not meant for a princess."

Valen laughed, a little strangled. "When did you last see her?"

"She left when she was fourteen, and I would have been…oh, almost twelve."

He said nothing, only pried the brandy bottle out of her fingers.

"So. Your mother." Jaiyan blinked, trying to clear her mind of old troubles. "What happened to her?"

"She died," he answered, flat-bland. "People do."

"Yes," she said, remembering Drogan, and the hacking coughs that racked him as he died in front of her. "Yes, they do. May I ask how?"

"She…was ill, for a month or so. I was very young…I don't remember exactly, but I was very young. She was not making enough money for her mistress, so she was killed, and I was thrown out into the streets."

"What..?" Suddenly, the trials of avoiding an angry father seemed trivial. "She was killed because she got sick?"

Valen shrugged, but the lines on his face were hard, his skin deathly pale. "Yes. Such is the way things happen sometimes."

"What happened to you afterwards?"

"I lived on the streets, mostly as a thief. Not a proud existence, but a necessary one."

"Which explains your sneaky knack with traps." She grinned at him. "You must've learned some things."

"Yes…I did." He shook himself. "When you went to Hilltop…"

"Yes?"

"Tell me about it," he said simply.

Deekin knew her past, knew how Drogan had taken in a hot-headed former farm girl and turned her into something resembling a mercenary or a fighter. The little bard had met her not long after she had left Hilltop following the kobold attack, and had stayed with her.

No one else – not even Durnan, she realized – knew as much.

"Oh…the end of the last winter at Hilltop, the town was attacked. By kobolds."

"_Kobolds?_"

"Don't laugh," she cautioned, not quite able to hide her smile. "According to Deekin, they're very dangerous in large numbers against inexperienced fighters."

Valen snorted scornfully. "Please tell me none of these kobolds got the better of you."

"Absolutely not," she retorted. "But they did make a mess of Hilltop's best tavern. And they stole some important things from Drogan."

In the strange night time of the Underdark, as the boat rocked underneath her, Jaiyan found herself telling him; no, _spilling_ to him. How Drogan had sent her and Xanos out into the snow on the trail of the raided artifacts. How they had met Deekin, and helped him. How the elusive path their enemies had taken had led them to J'Nar, and Tymofarrar, and eventually to the mythal in Anauroch.

"I've never been so _hot_," she said, still horrified by the concept. "I _dripped_ all the time. It was _horrible_."

Valen chuckled. "I take it my lady does not care for deserts?"

"Gods, no. Horrible places. Full of skittering scorpion creatures the size of an overfed carthorse, and tombs crawling with undead. Never going back there again."

"You found the mythal?"

They did, of course; and its trail and the trail of those searching for it wound deep into the shifting sands, to the Valley of the Winds. There had been the awful moment when she had been frozen in statue form, and the time when Ashara the slave-merchant had snapped a collar around her neck while the ancient Netherese city shuddered above them. There had been the shadow realms, and the strange towers within the flying city, and Deekin's incessant rhymes.

The brandy bottle lay forgotten on the deck, leaning over against the rail. Valen had turned, faced her with his hands clasped over his knees. "And Heurodis?"

"Was a cocky bitch who discovered that the business edge of a sword is more effective than hiding behind a faceful of tentacles."

He winced genially. "My lady, your way with words is…always concise."

"Thank you," she answered, only slight sardonic. "So…that's it. My grand adventure, much overblown and maligned by Deekin's searing epic."

"He wrote a _book?_"

"Oh, yes," she said wearily. "It sold very well, I'm told. And, from what I've read, made me at least six inches taller, and a good six inches wider at a certain point on my chest."

Valen's cheeks coloured slightly. "Poetic license?"

"Poetic lying, possibly. At least most of the spelling is correct." She leaned her head back against the rail, drew in a deep breath that tasted of wet moss. "Where to next, tiefling?"

She half expected him to bristle at such cavalier treatment, but he only smiled. "The ilithid slaver city. Zorvak'mur, they call it."

"Sounds like a delightful place."

His tone changed, became serious. "Do you know of the ilithid, my lady?"

"Only a little," she admitted. "I'm thinking lots of wriggling tentacles, and a tendency to eat brains."

His mouth curled upwards. "In a way. They trade though, in slaves and treasure, and their cities are not entirely closed off. As long as you appear to be a slaver."

"So we pretend. Alright." Her eyes slid shut. "How long?"

"Four days down river."

She wrapped her arms around her knees and shivered. "Do you know much about the ilithids?"

"Ilithid," he corrected. "One ilithid, two ilithid, I think."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to tell Deekin."

"They're merchants, at heart, despite the fact their wares tend to breathe." He shrugged, but there was a shadow in his eyes again. "They probably wouldn't march on Lith My'athar of their own volition, but with the support of the Valsharess, and with the promise of their pick of the survivors…"

"I understand," she said softly. "I do understand."

Valen's gaze lifted, burning pale blue. "My lady…I just…wanted to thank you. For talking to me…for telling me about Hilltop."

She smiled, aware that she felt strange, and blamed it entirely on weariness. She hooked up the brandy bottle. "You're welcome. And if you'll excuse me, I think I might go and try that sleeping idea again."

He inclined his head, and she saw the amused tilt to his lips. Aware of his gaze on her back, she meandered her way back into the small, cramped cabin. She found Deekin still snoring, and flat on his back, his wings splayed out and taking up far too much room. She gently pushed him over onto his side, and arranged one swept-out wing beside his shoulder. He grunted quietly and burrowed his snout against the bed.

Jaiyan crawled beneath the sheets and listened to the sound of the kobold's breathing slow down, and the sway of the ship beneath. Something creaked overhead, and she wondered if Valen was stalking across the deck. There had been much pain in his tales of Sigil, and she realised that she wanted to know more, and the why of it; how had he survived on the streets of so cruel a city, and how had he found his way to the Underdark?

_And what terrible thing had created the coldness in his eyes?_

She slammed a hand into the thin pillow and rolled over quickly. Somewhere near her feet, Deekin snorted and his tail tapped her ankles. As she finally drifted off into uneasy sleep, she recalled the tiefling's face, and wondered why she cared if he smiled or not.


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer is still going strong, and a great big thank you to everyone who's taking the time to read and review! _

_**Chapter Twelve – Dreaming**_

_He walked the streets of Sigil again, and tasted the air and felt the wind against his face. Overhead, the sky was strange and flickering, and seemed entirely normal. He was vaguely aware that he was younger, much younger, and that this had to be dream. How else could here be back here, in Sigil, when he was supposed to be in the Underdark, on his way to Zorvak'mur?_

_On both sides, tall towers leaned into each other at odd, unsettling angles. High spires lanced up, knife-edge sharp against the sky. The ground beneath him sloped upward, and he smiled. A quick walk up to the top of the hill, down the other side, and around the corner with the odd statue, and he would see his mother. _

_He had spent the past twelve hours hurtling around dark alleyways with the two others he considered friends, and had emerged with an armful of skinned meat sliced from small animals that he did not know the names of. Usually his mother was used to far better fare, but he understood that she had been ill, and that the mistress did not allow her to eat as much. Not when she could not work, and could not bring in coin. _

_He was not sure that he approved, but his mother had told him to keep his opinions to himself, and not to anger the mistress. _

_He wove his way through the teeming streets to the door of the house, and slipped inside. The girl who worked as a greeter in the first chamber smiled at him. "Your mother's upstairs, little one."_

_He nodded and darted up the stairs. He found her in the third room on the second floor, the chamber that was draped in scarlet and cream velvet. He liked the colours in here – they felt warm and safe and soft. Sometimes, if she had no customers late at night, his mother let him sleep in her room, and he preferred it when it was this room, with its huge four-poster and crushed velvet curtains._

_She was sitting at the big mirror, brushing her beautiful long hair. He helped her some days, running the bristles through her waist-length blonde tresses, while he watched her reflection smile. Other days he did not see her, because she worked so much. Others still, he would sneak up the stairs very late and find her upset, and pale-faced, with her hair in straggling handfuls over her thin shoulders, and she would tell him not to worry. _

_"Mother?"_

_Today, she was smiling. Frail from her illness, with her jewel-blue eyes huge in her face, and her fingers trembling a little on the brush handle, but she was smiling. She laid the brush down, turned. "What are you doing up so late, little one?"_

_He perched on the dresser near her. "I found you some dinner." He pushed his bagged-up prize across to her. "There's a lot of gristle, but I could cut them and cook them for you."_

_She smiled, and touched his cheek. "My brave Valen. What have I told you about charging around those alleyways?"_

_"That's where they run," he protested._

_"I know." She brushed loose red hair away from his forehead. "Are you ever going to let me cut this?"_

_He grinned and shook his head. "No."_

_She laughed, but it did not quite reach her blue eyes. "Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?"_

_He frowned; this was new. She was not working, so why could he not stay with her? "I thought I could stay here with you."_

_"Oh, Valen." She picked up the brush again, rhythmically stroked it through her hair. "Little one, you cannot stay here tonight."_

_"Why?"_

_"Can you not trust me when I say that it is dangerous?"_

_He bit his lip. Of course he could; this was Sigil, and he was the illegitimate child of a whore and a customer who had not been human. Every day he saw creatures walking the streets here that were stranger than the cambion that must have sired him. "Yes, Mother."_

_She touched one of his horns gently. "The courtyard at the temple, maybe?"_

_"Maybe. If the priests don't see me." He shrugged and made himself smile. She had to know that it would be cold in that courtyard, and he wondered why she did not seem to care. "Do I need to go now?"_

_She did not look away from the mirror, and he thought her eyes sparkled too brightly. "Yes, little one. I'm sorry."_

_He slid off the dresser and swallowed. "It's alright." He turned towards the door, and heard it; footsteps thumping up the steps outside. "Mother…do you hear that?"_

_Evidently his pointed, part-demon ears were sharper than hers; she shook her head. "No…" But then her face creased as the steps resounded louder and louder, and the door rattled. "Valen," she whispered. "Get out of here."_

_"What..?"_

_"The window, anything. You need to get out of here. Now!"_

_She rarely raised her voice at anything, much less him. He flinched, and his tail whipped reflexively. "Mother?"_

_The door crashed open, and he saw her press a pale hand to her mouth. Striding in across the threshold was the mistress, two cambion servants behind her. His mother had once reassured him that his father, whoever he was, had not been of the mistress' household; had not been one of these groveling slaves that followed the mistress like underfed lapdogs. _

_"You." The mistress' angry gaze fell on him. "Get him out of here."_

_"Valen," his mother said, low and exhausted. "Leave. Please."_

_Defiant to the last, he shook his head. "No!"_

_The mistress leveled dark eyes at him. "You and your mother have lived on my sufferance too long, half-breed. Now leave, or you will regret it, I promise you."_

_He stepped between his mother and the mistress, knowing he could do nothing. Some part of his mind raged; in his child's body, what hope had he against the mistress and her servants? He was too young, too small, and too afraid to do anything. _

_He gritted his teeth. "No," he said. _

_The mistress sighed and gestured to one of her cambions. The creature reached for him, wrapped a huge hand around his arm and lifted him clean off his feet. Tail lashing wildly, he kicked and wrenched and bit at the cambion's thick wrist. _

_"Still feisty, brat?" The mistress lifted a wing of red hair away from his face. "Hmm. Pretty child. You'll make a proud-looking man one day, if you're smart enough to live that long."_

_He yanked his head away from her hand. "Don't touch me."_

_The mistress smiled, that cold, cruel lifting of her lips that always worried him. "Such defiance, little one. Keep that and it will serve you well." She trailed one finger across the white skin of his cheek. "But for now, you will leave."_

_"No!" The cambion raised him higher, and he thrashed. The creature's other arm locked around his narrow waist, pinioning him. He heard the mistress laughing, and the anger bubbled up inside him. He kicked out with both feet, heard the cambion grunt. _

_"Just throw him out," the mistress snapped impatiently. _

_He heard the door swing open, and the cambion pitched him bodily through. He hit the plush carpet on the other side and staggered to his feet. He whirled around and did not make it in time; the door smashed closed, and the lock clanked into place on the other side. _

_Valen bolted to the door, pressed his ear against it, and listened desperately. He could hear the mistress' sibilant tones, and the cambions' raucous laughter. The sound of a chair turning over, and a cry. His fists clenched. "No!"_

_"Oh, get her up," the mistress sighed. "And be quick about it."_

_Pleading now, threaded through with tears. He slammed his hands against the door. He heard his mother begging, cut off as something solid smacked into skin. She spoke again, quieter now, and whispering for the mistress to spare him, spare her son, spare him and give him the mercy of some coin and somewhere to sleep for tonight. _

_"I think not." The mistress' words were cold. "He must learn that the weak do not survive in Sigil."_

_His mother's voice filled the sudden quiet, imploring compassion._

_"No." Footsteps, as perhaps the mistress turned away. "Do what needs to be done."_

_"No!" Valen howled and pounded his fists against the door. When the planks did not yield, he slammed his head against them and shrieked at the pain. Blood snaked from his scalp and trickled across his forehead. "No! Don't!"_

_Silence from inside the room. _

_The door was hurled open, and he stared up at the mistress' cool expression. "Still here, brat? Do you want to see what your mother's weakness has earned her?"_

_He snarled, fully prepared to launch at the mistress. Before he could move an inch, one of the cambions snatched him up and twisted his arms behind his back. He writhed and struck out with his feet and his horns, but the cambion only wrenched harder, and he screamed. Thick fingers grasped his chin and lifted his head. He stared through his hair at his mother, lying crumpled across her dresser. Her throat gaped crimson, and more blood ribboned her beautiful yellow hair. Her eyes were rolled back, and he could count her sweat-spiked eyelashes. Her elegant, pale hands were loose, some of the nails broken. The soft silk dress she was wearing was splashed with blood, and the skin beneath her opened throat seemed very white. _

_"Take him outside." The mistress nodded at him. "Make sure he doesn't get back in. The streets will swallow him within two days."_

_He struggled and kicked all the way down the stairs, and after they pitched him out onto the dark streets outside, he flung himself at the doors again and again until his forehead and knuckles bled. But he heard nothing from within, and no one opened the doors, not even when he screamed his mother's name and raked his fingers against the uncaring wood. _

"Valen..? Valen, are you alright?"

He started awake, and gazed up into soft blue eyes very unlike his own. He was aware of his racing heartbeat, and sweat on his temples. "Yes," he said, too quickly. "Yes…I'm fine."

Jaiyan cocked her head at him and crouched. "You're sure?"

He raked his hands though his hair and sat up. He was still on the boat, he realized, and he could feel the soft sway and hiss of the dark river. He was dressed in the scruffy shirt he usually wore beneath his armour, and he had fallen asleep sitting against the mast, of all places. "Yes," he said thickly. "Just dreaming."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Instinct told him _no, absolutely not_, but he saw no scorn in her face, only the same curiously gentle awareness he had seen in her before when she had listened to him. "I was dreaming about my mother. About the night she was killed."

Her hand brushed his shoulder as she settled herself closer to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

_No. No. Never. No._ "Her mistress came for her," he whispered. "She had a pair of cambions with her. They threw me out and then they killed her. Afterwards, they let me see her."

Something flickered across her face, some mix of understanding and buried horror. "Valen…"

He had not planned to talk more, had not wanted to. But a shudder unreeled through him, and he found himself speaking, telling her about the mistress' cold voice and colder smile. About the silk dress his mother had worn. About the blood in her yellow hair. About how he had ripped his knuckles raw hammering on the door.

About the first night he spent out on the streets in Sigil.

"I didn't know where to go," he said, hearing the flatness in his own voice. "I ended up hiding behind a water trough in a stable yard."

Jaiyan leaned against him, companionably, her shoulder pressing against his, and the mast against her back. She made no move to touch him further, and he found himself wondering if she would. "What happened?"

"The innkeeper was human," he recalled. "He was out sweeping the yard because the stable boy was inside throwing up the results of a particularly enthusiastic night in the taproom." He shook his head slowly. "I think I'll remember that until the end of my days. He found me still half asleep and scared me. I didn't know who he was or what he wanted."

She smiled, an easy, effortless smile that calmed his prickling nerves. "You didn't damage him, I hope?"

He chuckled slightly. "Ah…no. Well, not really. I bit him, actually."

She arched a dark eyebrow. "You bit him."

"Don't look at me like that," he protested. "He reached down – I think to help me up – so I wrapped myself around his arm and dug my teeth into his hand."

She giggled. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you…well, I am, but…imagining you that small, that young, and biting an innkeeper…"

He saw her shoulders shake, and realized that he was not annoyed, or hurt. "He swore blue murder and tried to pry me off him. Once he realized I was just scared and exhausted, and I realized he wasn't going to do anything, we both just…sat there. He sat on the edge of the water trough, and I sat on the ground. I remember he told me he recognized me for a tiefling, and that he wasn't going to hurt me. He said I looked hungry, so he fed me for a few days, and then he let me go with a bag full of food and coin."

"What was his name?"

He closed his eyes. He could recall the innkeeper's face, stark in his memory. Sunken cheeks and iron-grey brows above fierce green eyes, and a sallow, patchy complexion. "I don't know," he answered. "I never asked, and he never told me."

"Kindness doesn't need a name, sometimes."

He lifted his gaze to hers. "No. It doesn't. Do you know what I remember most about that?"

She shook her head.

"My mother's dress was blue. Darkest blue." He studied Jaiyan's face and noted again that in this half-gloom, her eyes were the same dark, haunting shade. _Don't compare,_ he thought swiftly. _That's morbid. Don't compare_. "That and how much my hands hurt."

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "It's just a word, and it doesn't seem to…I don't know. I just know I'm sorry."

He nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. "My lady, how long was I asleep?"

"Most of the morning. You looked exhausted, so I let you sleep. But then you started moving and muttering, and I thought it best to wake you up before you said something embarrassing."

He blinked at her. _Gods, I swear I will never quite understand this woman._ "I'm sorry?"

"Well, Deekin informs me that the few times I've talked in my sleep, I generally embarrass myself thoroughly by muttering about dragons I _think_ I've killed. Or treasure I think I've stolen."

He smiled slowly. _She's trying to cheer you up_, he realized. _Clumsily, and ridiculously, but gods forsake us if it isn't working_. "And how many dragons have you killed?"

"Asleep? Thousands. I even sawed the tip of one's tail off and beat it to death with it."

He winced. "And awake?"

"Ah." She arched a dark eyebrow. "There you have me. The epic saga of my confrontation with a great wyrm is yet to find its tale on the tapestry of the ages." When he just stared, she qualified, "That means no, none."

"What about the white dragon? Deekin's old master?"

"Tymofarrar?" She smirked. "That ungainly lump of a dragon? No, we didn't kill him. Deeks thought it would be cruel, and I…I have to admit, I didn't want to. Tymofarrar was an idiot, but he was….I don't know, stupid but harmless. Somehow."

He settled his weight back against the mast as the boat lifted over a swell. He opened his mouth again, and groaned when he heard small feet pattering against the deck. "Gods, can't you drug that lizard of yours?"

Jaiyan grinned at him. "Why? Do you want me all for yourself?"

Heat crawled up his face, and he was relieved when she looked instead down to where Deekin pelted along the deck. With his wings trailing behind him, the little kobold skidded to a halt. "Boss!"

"Yes, Deeks?"

The kobold fixed Jaiyan with piercing black eyes. "You _still_ be talking with Goat-man?"

Valen choked. He glared at the small creature. "_Goat-man?_"

Deekin nodded solemnly. "Yes."

He ground his teeth. "I don't want to, but I feel compelled to ask…why?"

The kobold sighed, as if it was obvious. "You gots horns."

"Yes?"

"So, maybe you is part goat?"

"Lots of things have horns," he muttered.

Beside him, Jaiyan giggled. "Don't say that," she whispered. "Or you'll be cow-goat-tiefling-deer-man for the rest of your life."

"Yes," said Deekin cheerfully, answering him. "But you gots horns that look like goat horns."

His hand flew to one of his horns, and his fingers clenched in the red hair running around the base of it. "I…_goat horns?_"

The kobold nodded again. "Goat-man not think horns like goat horns?"

Valen growled. "Can you not just use my _name?_"

Jaiyan patted his knee. "Deekin's not so good on names. Right, Deeks?"

"Right, Boss."

Valen moaned and covered his face with his hands. "This morning I woke up as General Shadowbreath. I haven't even had breakfast, and already I'm demoted to Goat-man."

"Sorry, General." Jaiyan's eyes glittered wickedly. "Named and branded and forever remembered, unfortunately."

He sighed, and was slightly unsettled to discover that he did not mind, not at all. _Not that that damn kobold will ever know_. "Then I will face my fate with stoicism and courage. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she answered. "Did you just make a joke?"

He felt the heat flush his neck and cheeks again as he pushed up to his feet. "Not at all. I have the sense of humour of a particularly boring rock."

"And another one. Valen Shadowbreath, I am impressed." Jaiyan followed him with a broad smile on her face. "It must be our inestimable company."

He glanced at the kobold. "Something like that. What would my lady desire for breakfast?" He managed to look her in the eyes while the sensible half of his brain informed him he was an idiot.

"Not mushrooms," she answered thoughtfully. "Do we have any cheese left?"

"No. Your kobold ate it all."

"Deekin did not!"

He flipped his pack over, dug into it. "Well, someone did." His hand closed on wrapped cold meat and what felt like old mushrooms. "There's rothe. And, well, mushrooms."

Jaiyan grimaced and accepted a handful of the sliced meat. "Better than nothing." She glanced over the rail. "I don't suppose you can fish this river?"

"You can," he said lightly, "But what comes out of it is more likely to eat you."

"Hah. Then I shall complain no longer about the amazing blandness of cold rothe."

He sat cross-legged opposite her, and watched her fingers flickering as she pried apart the meat slices. "When we get back, go to the tavern and demand a decent meal, and you'll see that there are exciting things that can be done with rothe."

"Oh, really?" She looked at him from beneath arched eyebrows. "I'll believe that when I see it."

He grunted, and set to on his own portion, while Deekin tore into the last of the meat.

"Valen?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Mmm?"

"Is it far to Zorvak'mur?"

"No. Why?"

Her hands lowered from her mouth, and he could have sworn he saw apprehension flit across her face. "I…have to admit that I'm not looking forward to the idea of ilithid. I don't know much about them, but I know the idea of tentacles and being able to search through my brain makes my skin go cold."

_So, our savior has nerves after all_. He had watched her throw herself at foes with wild abandon, and despite her obvious unease around driders, had never seen her admit _fear_, as opposed to _dislike_. "They're like any other enemy. Know how they think, and their weaknesses, and you have nothing to fear."

Her face twisted in a grimace. "That's the point. I don't know how they think. Or what their weaknesses are."

"They're traders," he said. "Merchants more than warriors."

She laughed nervously. "Not reassured."

"I've dealt with ilithid before." He shrugged. He was not sure why it bothered him, that her usual confidence had slipped away. "We'll be fine."

"I'll take your word for it. Come on, Deeks. We need to get ready."

While she ambled down the deck with her kobold jogging along beside her, he allowed himself to observe her, to watch the unbound fall of dark hair across narrow shoulders. His gaze moved, dropped lower, and then guiltily snapped away.

_This isn't right_, he thought desperately_. You woke from the worst nightmare you've had in a while, and less than an hour later, you end up ogling her. _

He shook his head again, and forced his thoughts elsewhere, away from the stranger with the dark brown hair and the kobold companion. Lith My'athar and the Seer waited, somewhere in the darkness, kept safe while he was away by a ragtag group of drow rebels who hated each and surfacers and the Valsharess. Imloth he trusted, and had since he had first arrived, and Nathyrra he had learned to trust; but the others he considered drow, and as capable of treachery as breathing.

Except the Seer.

Her he held in the highest esteem, something that startled him even now, given how far parted from his humanity he had been when he met her.

_Which was something he needed to tell Jaiyan_.

She knew there was more than what little he had spoken of; more than strange tales of Sigil, and an otherworldly heritage, and weapons with unusual names.

_And so far you've said nothing. _

The Seer had understood, had looked upon him with nothing but compassion in her millpond eyes, and that had almost broken him. She had given him all the time and understanding he needed, and yet he had still been little more than an animal, slave to the demon's blood in his veins.

"_You can be a good man. You are a good man." Her eyes were soft as she touched his cheek gently. "The demon in you is not tamed, but it is beaten back. You are not a monster."_

He had begun to dare believing, but the terrible fear still remained, lodged always at the back of his mind. He had once known what it was like to kill, and hurt; _and to enjoy it. _The Seer had assured him that such base instincts could be curbed; had been, in fact, by the sheer strength of his own will.

_And still, he was afraid_.

This messiah of the Seer's, this savior of Lith My'athar – this _woman_ – thought of herself as unwilling hero, and yet shouldered a geas and the fate of a city upon reluctant shoulders.

What if his control was to slip, fall away, and he hurt her?

"_The demon is not you," the Seer had said once, gently, and without censure. "It is in you. It is not you."_

But he had never quite believed the rage in his blood vanquished, and he was afraid. It was not the shaking fear that gripped men before battle, nor the sick feeling afterwards, but the terrible knowledge of his own ability to simply _hurt_.

"Valen?"

He flinched, and blinked up at Jaiyan. She wore the leathers she had bought in Lith My'athar, and they hugged her slight frame. Her hair was twisted behind her head, and he cursed himself for noticing. "Yes?"

"Cavallas says we're nearly there. Are you ready?"

He drew in a deep, uncertain breath. She was looking down at him with those blue eyes again, and he made himself look away. "Yes," he said, and he heard his voice even out. He managed to muster up half a smile. "Yes," he repeated. "I'm ready."


	13. Chapter 13

_Big thanks to everyone who's keeping up with this story, and Bioware of course still owns everything except Jaiyan. _

_**Chapter Thirteen – Zorvak'mur**_

High rock slopes rose on either side, and dangling stalactites plunged down, breaking the darkness. Jaiyan walked ahead, sword already drawn, with Valen's steady tread behind her, and Deekin padding alongside, his wings stiff as a wet cat's hackles. She silently agreed with their rigid expressions and terse frames; the darkness here was thick and unmoving and cloaking, broken only by the rush of water far away.

Valen had explained that the ilithid city was no more than a few hours walk from the river, and yet so far, they had seen nothing but blank rock and unending shadows. She kept walking, her hand vised around the sword hilt, and wished for open sky, and the feel of a natural breeze against her face. She wondered if she spent enough time down here, would she forget how the starlight looked, and how the sun felt?

"Wait." Valen's hand closed gently on her shoulder.

She listened, already used to his particular way of announcing trouble. "Hear something?"

"I'm not sure," he answered.

But his tail lashed, and she looked up under the arch of the stalactites and narrowed her eyes. Moving like wraiths in the darkness, almost soundlessly, lean shapes that could only be drow.

Jaiyan sighed. "Is there _anywhere_ here that drow don't lurk in?"

Deekin unslung his crossbow and shrugged philosophically. "We be in the Underdark, Boss. Not seeing drow in the Underdark is like not seeing fish in the sea."

There was no warning shout, no words between the drow as they seethed forward. They must have been a war party, she surmised, since they were too heavily armoured to be scouts. She had another moment to reflect that their leader was broad-shouldered for a drow, when Valen thundered past her, his flail snapping out and impacting against the leader's chest.

The drow sprawled backwards, his sword skittering from his hand. Valen followed, pinned him to the ground with one foot. The flail rose and fell, and the drow soldier went limp.

She dragged her gaze away from the tiefling and turned to meet the onrushing attack of the next drow. She ducked as twin blades scythed over her head, remembered that she hated fighters who used two equal-length weapons at once, and gritted her teeth. She snapped her sword sideways, driving the drow's left-hand blade away.

_Leaving her right side entirely exposed._ She could almost hear Drogan rebuking her for poor planning and sloppy execution. Biting back an obscenity, she dropped to her knees again, wrenching her sword away. She launched herself backwards, saw the drow soldier following. Straightening up, she blocked the downward swing of the left blade again, while her hand scrabbled at her waist for her dagger. She yanked it free, used one bracered forearm to thrust aside the flat of the right-hand blade, and plunged the dagger to the hilt in the drow's throat. She crashed his swords aside as he choked, and rammed her own into his chest.

She yanked on the hilt, swore as the blade snagged against the rivets and rings on the dead drow's armour. She wrenched the sword out, turned barely in time to block the rushing onslaught of the next attacker. She heard Deekin chanting behind her, madly trying to recite jumbled-sounding syllables. She dived under the lean drow soldier's powerful lunge, flipped her sword round, and drove it into the drow's side. Tugging the blade free as she turned, she looked past the dead drow to where Valen stood, legs braced, curving his flail towards their last pair of adversaries.

She darted round the spill of blood and followed. Almost faster than she could follow, Valen swung the flail against the side of the first drow's skull, dropping him flat. On the backswing of the same motion, the tiefling spun and drove the spined head of the weapon under the last drow's chin. He yanked the haft, and the flail tore the drow's throat out.

Sword lowered, Jaiyan approached him. He whirled around, and she saw the chain on the flail spring taut. Without thinking, she jerked to one side, stumbled as her shoulders hit the rock wall. The flail whined over her head, and slammed into the stone two inches to one side.

She looked at him, saw that his face was blank and his eyes burned a dull, infernal red.

"Valen…" She saw his fingers tighten around the flail haft again. "Valen, it's me. It's Jaiyan. They're all dead. It's Jaiyan. You're alright." She was babbling, and she knew it. She stared at his frighteningly vacant face. "Valen?"

A shudder ran through him, and he dropped the flail. "I'm…I'm sorry," he managed. His shoulders trembled, and he stepped away from her. "I'm sorry."

Jaiyan pushed away from the rocks, followed him. "Valen?"

He shook his head, did not look at her. "I could have killed you."

She knelt, scooped up the heavy flail. Behind her, she heard the pattering of small claws as Deekin scuttled up. She motioned with a hand for him to be silent. "How do you carry this thing? It must weigh more than me."

She stepped around him, held out the flail. Looked up at him, into eyes that were now a familiar shade of ice-blue. "_Are_ you alright?"

"I swore I would help you. Protect you." His tail snapped out angrily. "And I try to take your head off instead."

Jaiyan laid the flail back on the floor again. She saw Deekin watching, eyes flickering, not sure if he should leap into the fray to intervene. "You reacted too fast, that's all. You thought I was another drow. You had no way of knowing you'd killed the last one."

He shook his head. He leaned back against the stone wall, sunk down onto his haunches. "I knew it was you."

"What..?"

"Sometimes…I can't control it. I still…needed to kill. Anything. Something. You."

She crouched beside him, studying him sidelong. "I wouldn't've let you. I'd've slugged you in the mouth first. Then mule-kicked you between the legs. You know that, right?"

His expression stayed fixed and hard. "If you wanted me to take you back to Lith My'athar, you could arrange for Nathyrra to help you instead."

"Why would I want Nathyrra when I asked you?"

"I very much doubt Nathyrra will try to bludgeon you to death."

Something about the hopelessness in his voice scared her. "No, we will not be returning to Lith My'athar," she said, quietly. "I value your knowledge and your skills. And the fact that you usually take out your temper on whatever sundry creatures try to waylay us. Besides, I'd feel safer down here around you than with a drow elf who's even shorter than I am." She crossed her arms moodily. "Deal?"

His face was uncertain. "And if I lose control again?"

"Then I'll point you in the direction of the nearest beholder and let you have your demony way with it." She reached out, impulsively clasped the back of his wrist. "I'd like you to stay. If you want to."

He smiled then, tentatively. "If you will have me."

"I will." She pushed back up to standing, prodded his flail with one foot and firmly pushed away all inappropriate thoughts. "Though you can carry that behemoth of a weapon."

Valen reached out, hooked up the flail. Arranged it in the sheath strapped across his shoulders.

"How do you take it out without clobbering yourself over the head?" she asked curiously.

"Practice."

"So tieflings typically have thick skulls?" She poked him in the side, where the joint of his breastplate gave way to leather and cloth.

Valen smiled. "No more than your kobold's."

Deekin yipped at that. "Thick skull? Goat-man thinks Deekin have thick skull?"

Jaiyan patted the kobold's shoulder. "Ignore him."

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The trail wound between high rock shelves that made her feel uncomfortable, even claustrophobic. Thick dust coated the ground, scored and tracked with footprints. A narrow stream wound past on one side, twisting between tall, sharp-edged boulders. The air here seemed damp and hot, and Jaiyan's shirt clung to her skin beneath her leathers.

Valen walked beside her, matching pace, but resolutely staring ahead. He had barely spoken since the encounter with the drow war party, and his tail twitched stiffly.

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"Does Boss have a plan?"

"I never have a plan. You should know that by now." She grinned over her shoulder at him. "You mean about the ilithid?"

Deekin nodded. "Deekin wonders…if mind-flayers can suck out brains, why Boss just walking into their city? And what Boss actually going to do them?"

She paused. "You…have a point. _Is_ there any way we can stop the, ah…brain-sucking?"

The corners of Valen's mouth curled up. "We're not going to invade the city. I think we should just go in pretending to be merchants about to sell slaves."

"What kind of slaves?"

"Human and kobold, obviously."

"Obviously?" She gave him a gentle shove. "You mean you don't want to be my slave?"

He coughed. "I'd make a terrible slave, my lady."

"Oh, I don't know. I could train you." _Change topic. Quickly. Swiftly embarrassing ourselves_. "How dangerous will this be, really?"

"Very. How easy do you think it will be to keep secrets from creatures that can read your thoughts as simply as you or I breathe?"

She shivered. "Suddenly I wish we'd never come here."

"We had to," he said, sternly. "If the ilithid were to attack Lith My'athar…"

"I know." She shook herself. "I just don't like the idea of things probing around in my head."

"I know. I don't like it either." His face was still grim as he turned away. "Come. We're nearly there."

She followed him, sword drawn, and the skin between her shoulders tight and prickling. She felt a slight pressure on her fingers, and glanced down to see Deekin's hand wrapped around hers. She squeezed back fiercely, only letting go when the rock walls closed in overhead, and the path became too narrow. The ravine tapered to a cramped corner, culminating in the soft, rushing fall of water.

"You're sure this is right?"

Valen cast an indignant glance over his shoulder. "Of course."

With one hand up to shield his eyes, he stepped into the falls, and the water closed over his shoulders. Jaiyan stared, sighed, and plunged into the waterfall after him. The rocks were slippery beneath her feet, and there was a horrible moment of blindness as the water cloaked her. She emerged spluttering and soaked into a bigger cavern. A hand grasped her elbow, supporting her as she stumbled over loose stones. She blinked away water droplets and looked at Valen. "I wasn't expecting that."

He dropped her arm as if stung. "I should have explained."

Deekin came staggering through the waterfall behind her and shook himself like a dog. Jaiyan yelped as he flapped his wings out, and more water sprayed onto her. "Deeks!"

"Sorry, Boss."

Valen led them along a twisting path through high rock columns. The steady drip and splash of water seemed to be everywhere. Tiny streams ran over the rocks, and larger puddles gleamed in the half-darkness. The air was thick with the scents of damp earth, and maybe even peat, however absurd the concept seemed to Jaiyan. "What's that smell?"

Valen's broad shoulders moved in a shrug, but he did not turn. "Zorvak'mur."

"Smells like wet soil."

"Or wet horse," Deekin offered from behind her.

Valen raised a hand for silence.

She looked past him, following his gaze to where a small patrol of duergar stamped their way between the rocks, axes drawn and dark eyes already fixed on them.

She tightened her grip on her sword. "Attack?"

"No." He shook his head. "Not yet."

The lead duergar motioned his group to a halt. "You're going into the city?"

Valen nodded. "That we are. Interested in some buying."

"Looking for anything special?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Humans."

The duergar grinned. "Yes. Docile, quiet, easy to break. Been here before?"

"No," he said, slowly. "Anything we should know?"

The duergar raked a suspicious glance over him. "You're new to this."

"Yes. Got directions from a drow. I was told the mind-flayers don't over-charge on already broken slaves."

"True enough. They're fair priced, even if you've got to do business with those damned flayers breathing over your shoulder." The duergar's gaze slid to Jaiyan. "And yet you're traveling with a human. And…a kobold?"

Valen shrugged. "The lizard's on blood debt."

"And the woman?"

"She's mine. Bought and paid for." He turned his head, and gave her an icy, imperious look.

She felt something cold worm into her stomach, but she bit her lip and said nothing.

"You let her carry her own weapons," the duergar pointed out accusingly.

"Why not?" His level blue gaze was still pinned on her. "She knows not to do anything stupid."

Jaiyan gripped her sword tighter and chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from snarling at him.

The duergar laughed. "The way it should be."

"I could do with a favour," Valen said, his expression shifting into a companionable smile.

"What's that?"

"Your helmet. How much?"

The duergar's hand slipped up to the odd-shaped helm on his head. "What? No. It's mine."

"And I could be doing with it," Valen said softly. "I'll give you gold for it, or I'll take your head along with it."

The duergar's eyes slitted. "Try."

Valen twisted his wrist, and the spiked heads of his flail jangled.

Furiously, the duergar raised his axe. "Kill them! And whoever takes his head off keeps his weapons!" His mouth moved, as if to speak again, but Valen's flail ploughed into his chest, lifting him off his feet.

Two crossbow bolts, fired in rapid succession, whined past the tiefling and slammed into the next duergar. While Jaiyan charged in from the left, and crashed into another, Valen spun the flail behind his head, taking out two with one sweep. To Jaiyan, half watching as she yanked her sword out of her target's stomach, it seemed he was moving on before the blood hit the ground. He rammed one elbow against the last one's head, and pulverized the duergar's chest as it staggered.

Jaiyan lowered her sword, still unsettled. She watched as he turned, and almost felt guilty for glancing first at his eyes. "I'm yours, am I?" she growled. "Bought and paid for? Already broken, is that it?"

His eyes widened. "My lady, I didn't mean…"

"You could have made me a trader! A partner in crime, anything!"

He stepped back from her. "My lady, please…I did not mean anything untoward. He was a slaver, and understood trading in flesh. What else was I meant to say?"

Simmering, she flicked blood off the end of her sword. "I don't like slavers. I don't like slaves. I don't like the _idea_ of being treated like cattle."

"I'm sorry." His gaze softened. "I…don't care for slavers, either. I once learned what it is like to be at the utter mercy of another, enforced with shackles and cages."

She froze. "You…did?"

He nodded, said nothing.

"Oh." She crossed the space between them and touched the back of his hand briefly. "I'm sorry. I didn't…I was being awkward."

"Awkward, my lady? You? Who would think such a thing?"

She smirked at him, but there was still that haunted depth in his eyes. "That's another story you'll have to tell me sometime."

He smiled, hesitantly. "I'd…like that. Sometime."

Suddenly horribly aware of the silence stretching between them, Jaiyan steeled herself. "So. How far to this city?"

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Dark, twisting gates rose up before them, and the ground beneath was polished black stone. Pale torches fluttered, casting leaping shadows. The dampness was thick here, and Jaiyan found herself thinking of stagnant pools and thick green weeds.

"Here," Valen said quietly. "Put this on."

She turned, accepted the helmet he passed her. Yanked off a dead duergar's head, the helmet apparently carried enchantments strong enough to block the questing thoughts of an ilithid's psychic talents. "Think this will work?"

Beneath the rim of his own helmet, he looked grim. "Only one way to find out."

He gave the doors a quick push, and Jaiyan saw more pale torches beyond. Valen strode through first, an absolute picture of stern calm; save for his tail, which snapped and lashed. She trailed him, one hand latched around the hilt of her sheathed sword.

Past the gates, stillness reigned. Jaiyan blinked, could see the low roofs of dark buildings far away. Ranks of white torches flared, pale spots in the darkness. The very air itself seemed leaden, the quiet unsettling. Something nudged her leg, and she looked down to see Deekin huddling closer. "You alright, Deeks?"

"Yes, Boss," he whispered. "Not like this place, Boss."

She shook her head in wordless agreement.

Walking through the flickering shadows were figures, some with the stocky frames of duergar, some surfacer humans, elves, gnomes, even drow. And they all walked with vacant eyes, their expressions like cast wax. Jaiyan watched a drow woman walk past, her face entirely devoid of any emotion, and her beautiful silver eyes wide and empty. The woman's mouth was parted and slack, and she even moved strangely, jerking slightly, reminding Jaiyan of a marionette.

"They're thralls," Valen murmured. His blue gaze followed the hapless wandering of a group of gnomes. "Lost to the ilithid."

Chilled, Jaiyan forced her legs to move, and followed Valen further in. Two blank-faced surfacer men brushed past, and Deekin yelped and grasped her hand. She could feel the little kobold's breath coming fast and shallow, and she squeezed his hand, trying to reassure.

A torch-marked path wove ahead, curving around past a deep pit. Steps descended into the blackness, worn smooth with age.

And standing beside the steps was an ilithid.

Jaiyan swallowed and could not quite stop her skin from prickling. Elegant, beautifully-sewn robes fell from the ilithid's slim shoulders, black, edged with gold and studded with jewels. Heavy rings hung from its long-fingered hands, and rubies arced along the outside of its high collar. She made herself look up, away from its clasped fingers, to the gleaming, oil-dark tentacles that writhed above its robes, and the large, domed skull with its huge black eyes.

"Travelers," the ilithid hissed. Its claws clacked together. "What do you wish in this place?"

"Slaves," Valen said brusquely. "And maybe a time to look at the arena."

The ilithid's tentacles moved again. "Indeed." The creature's obsidian gaze slipped to Jaiyan. "If your taste runs to human females, we have many at the markets you may find appealing."

Valen nodded. "My thanks."

Pushing back the urge to scream or throttle the ilithid, or both, Jaiyan traipsed after him, her hand still linked with Deekin's. "I don't suppose there's a tavern here?"

The tiefling swung round, sudden irritation in his voice. "We walk the ground of Zorvak'mur, and _that's_ all you can think of?" He searched her face, and coughed uncomfortably. "Oh. You were joking. Yes?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Very badly, very inappropriately, but yes. Sorry."

"No, it's…it's alright." His tail twitched. "There actually _is_ a tavern, if I remember right. I wouldn't want to imagine what they'd serve."

"Spider blood with mushroom spices?"

"Oh, no," he answered, utterly dead-pan. "They serve _that_ in Lith My'athar."

Jaiyan grimaced and could not quite hide her widening smile. "Sounds lovely."

Valen turned away, and she could have sworn she heard him chuckle faintly. He led them across the smooth, glistening black stone, heading for a raised area further ahead. Rock sloped up here, outlined on both side by those strange white torches. Dust rose from staked-out pens, and the stench of old sweat and drying blood assailed them. With her vision blocked by Valen's broad frame as he strode up the slope first, Jaiyan swallowed again, trying to calm skittering nerves.

_Too dark. Too damp. Too strange-smelling. Don't like it. Ilithids. Don't like it. Ilithids. Don't want to be here. _

"Boss?" Deekin's fingers around hers snapped her alert again. "Boss be alright?"

"Boss be absolutely petrified." She sighed. Thoughts, she considered, should be held sacrosanct, and the sanctity of a person's own mind should never be violated. _Besides, ilithid have all those squirmy tentacles_. "Yes, I'm alright."

She stepped up beside Valen, and her stomach twisted. Manacled hand and foot, slaves sat or crouched or simply lay in the pens. Most were thin and filthy, and some bled. There were humans and drow flung together, sitting wordlessly, sharing chains. They had the emaciated, exhausted look of people who have already cried themselves out of tears and all emotion, and have nothing left but silence. Tall, slender ilithid glided between the small corrals, tentacles flickering, and silk robes brushing the ground.

Beside her, Valen growled.

"Don't," she murmured warningly. "I know, but don't."

He shook his head, frustrated. "I just…"

"I know." She reached out, clasped his hand, and felt heat trail up her neck when his fingers tightened around hers.

One of the ilithid slithered over to them, dark eyes sparkling. "And how may I serve you today?"

_These are people_, Jaiyan thought furiously. _People who are slaves when they shouldn't be._

"Do you wish to see the slave auctions?" the ilithid inquired. "The bidding begins soon."

"No," Valen grated. "We need to see the Elder Brain."

_What in the name all that is unholy is an Elder Brain? _She exchanged a quick look with Deekin. _And is it as nasty as it sounds?_

"Oh, indeed?" The ilithid's tentacles waved. "And why might you need to see the Elder Brain? You who are not of this city, this place and its people?"

She saw Valen's shoulders stiffen as he reined back anger. "We come with need to speak of the Valsharess," he said, every word almost a snarl. "This is urgent."

"Ah…this is different. The Valsharess, hmm?" The ilithid linked long fingers over its chest. "Very well. Find the venerator, at the steps, and ask to be admitted. Then we shall see."

Valen nodded tightly and turned away. Jaiyan skipped briefly to match pace with him and nudged his elbow. "What in the Nine Hells is an Elder Brain?"

"What does it sound like?"

"A giant brain. That's really old."

Valen wrapped a hand around the haft of his flail, and some of the tension drained from him. "You know, you're not far wrong."


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer is still: Bioware owns everyone and everything except Jaiyan. _

_**Chapter Fourteen – The Ilithid **_

The ilithid venerator stood beside the steps, its eyes half-closed, and its tentacles still. Behind it, a large black pit gaped, and Jaiyan swallowed as she saw the steep stairs that descended. She was given little time to worry, since Valen stalked up to the mind-flayer and inclined his head briefly. "We need to speak to the Elder Brain."

The mind-flayer's eyes opened properly. "And for what reason would that be?"

"The Valsharess."

"Ah." The venerator stepped forward, and Jaiyan was reminded uncomfortably of wriggling things that lived in deep water that she had encountered in a book once. "The Valsharess we know of. And what would you propose about her?"

"That I will only say to the Elder Brain."

"Ah, stubborn, is it?" The mind-flayer's tentacles fluttered slightly. "Then pass, brave ones. Remove your helms and walk down the stairs, and submit to the Elder Brain's presence."

Sudden alarm tightened Jaiyan's spine. "Valen…"

"What assurance can you give us?" he asked carefully.

The venerator's tentacles rippled sardonically. "The pleasure of an audience with the Elder Brain."

Valen turned, his blue eyes wide with dismay. "Stay here," he said, quietly. "I'll go."

She glared back at him, too mulish to back down. "No. I'm here as well. You go, and I go with you."

Deekin's dry nose touched her hand. "And Deekin!"

"And Deekin. You're stuck with us."

He shook his head, unsmiling. "My lady, I don't think…"

"No. No argument." She poked him in the chest and winced when his armour proved unsurprisingly hard. "We all go."

Valen gritted his teeth and backed down. "Very well. But if something happens, then so help me…"

"You can tell the Seer it was all my fault." She batted innocent eyelashes at him. "Besides, I don't want you to leave me on my own."

Still seething, he turned back to the venerator, which watched with mirror-calm eyes. "We'll all go." Valen lifted his hands to his helmet, roughly yanked it off. "That assurance had better be genuine."

The ilithid bowed low. "My word is true, brave one."

Jaiyan clamped her hands around the edge of the helm, and realized her heart was thundering. One steadying breath, another, and she pulled the helmet up and away from her head. She froze through an uncertain moment, but no terrible psychic spells seemed to come crushing into her mind. _Unless they're really, really sneaky_, she thought. A quick look at Valen and Deekin showed them both edgy but alive, and apparently in full control of their own thoughts.

Feeling horribly exposed, aware that every nerve shrieked at her to run, she trailed Valen to the steps with Deekin alongside her. Not liking the oil-slippery feel of the steps beneath her feet, she clenched her fingers and kept her gaze fixed on Valen's shoulders. Fringed by the tied-back ends of his scarlet hair, his armour was still burnished and sparklingly clean, despite the endless days spent trudging over dark stone or on Cavallas' boat. She wondered how he could possibly have found time to polish it when she had not noticed. Still lost in mundane thoughts, she nearly blundered into his back as he stopped.

She stumbled away from him, mortified. "Oh…sorry. I didn't notice you'd…" Her voice dried up as she followed his tipped-up gaze, and something very like cold fear touched her skin.

The bottom of the stairs opened out onto a high, cavernous chamber, vast enough that the curves of the roof were lost in damp mist and darkness. The air seemed to thrum with the sense of something waiting, or breathing. Pale torches flickered, spaced too far apart to do little more than light the mist or lend eeriness to the moving shadows. Water ran down the walls, and everything tasted of mildew as Jaiyan drew in a slow breath.

"Valen?"

He shook his head, motioned in front of them. To where, past a raised dais, the mist lapped at something pale pink. Something huge that surged and rippled and glistened with moving water. She stared at it, and felt her stomach lurch.

"Wow, Boss!" Deekin elbowed her excitedly. "Deekin never seen one of these before!"

Nausea ripped through her gut, and she clamped her lips together. "No," she grated. "Me neither."

The thing – the Elder Brain – seethed with a rhythmic, expanding motion very like a deep breath. "Why are you here?"

"The Valsharess," Valen said, and Jaiyan admired the steadiness in his voice. "You know of her."

"Yes," the Elder Brain whispered, a soft, sibilant sound. "We know of this Matron Mother. Seeks to rule the Underdark, she does. Seeks to take her drow above ground and slaughter surfacers who would stand against her. Seeks to draw power from the arch-devil she has chained to the walls of her throne room."

"How do you know all this?" Jaiyan blurted.

"We _know_," the Elder Brain hissed. "We read the thoughts and desires and memories of those who cross us. Of those we see, and those we catch. We _know_."

"We have a proposal for you," Valen continued, his words still implacable. "Offer no support to the Valsharess."

A tremor ran through the quivering pink mass, and Jaiyan suspected that it was laughing. "Offer no support? What can you give us that would ensure such a thing?"

Valen's shoulders stiffened. "How about letting you live?"

Another vibration ran through the Elder Brain, and its voice rose, amused. "_Let_ us live? Why should ones such as we live on your sufferance and your threats, tiefling?"

Valen scowled, said nothing.

"Perhaps you can offer us something in trade, and we will consider."

"Such as?"

"Such as…" The water on the pink flesh slithered as the Elder Brain considered. "Such as the Mirror of All-Seeing."

Jaiyan stared at it in open-mouthed horror. "How in the hells do you know about _that?_"

"We _know_," it repeated softly. "We see it in your thoughts. So open, your mind, a book to be read, to be savoured. You gave this mirror away, foolish girl. You could not bear to think of it. So you will return to your Seer, and you will get the mirror, and perhaps we will lend no help to the Valsharess."

She glanced at Valen, saw that his eyes had hardened. He shook his head at her. She vised a hand over her sword hilt and dredged up a taunting smirk. "Oh, well. Let me think about this…no?"

The surface of the pink flesh shivered in response, and the air seemed suddenly thicker, the mist denser. Jaiyan opened her mouth to shout a warning, but she could not remember how to frame such words, and her mind opened up on nothing but blank darkness.

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The door opened, and Jaiyan stumbled inside, blown in with the wind and the cold. Snowflakes clung to her half-untied hair, and whiteness cloaked her shivering shoulders. The hand around her sword hilt was numb, and her lips were blue. The last, tortuous hours she had spent slogging through deep drifts had left her shaking and exhausted, her clothes soaked.

Bright candlelight met her, and heat, and the scents of roasting meat. She blinked through melting snow, and saw plush rugs covering polished floorboards.

_Plush rugs she was dripping on_.

"Lass! You're sodden. Come here."

Hands grasped her wrists and pulled her towards the fireplace, while someone else flung a blanket around her thin shoulders. She looked up through wet strands of hair and saw a dwarf, barrel-chested and powerful, with snowy hair spilling past his collar. "Are you Drogan?"

The dwarf nodded. "Aye, that I am. Who are you, lass?"

Her sword slipped from her fingers, fell with a dull thump onto the rug. "My name is Jaiyan. I…was told to come here and find you." She scrabbled in the pouch at her hip, found the missive with his name and the town's name. "A friend of yours gave me this."

The dwarf peeled the parchment from her and scanned the contents quickly. "Ah, met Carrin, did you?"

"Yes." She clamped her lips together to stop her teeth chattering. "Further down south. He…helped me at a tavern."

"Yes, he's known for that kind of thing. Likes saving broken-winged birds." The dwarf's dark-eyed gaze sharpened. "That you, lass?"

She scowled. "No," she said, quietly. "I came here on my own. My horse dropped under me twelve nights ago. Carrin told me where to come, yes. But I got here."

"Aye, I can see that." Drogan swept a raking gaze across her. "Let's get you upstairs and into some warmer clothes before we talk any more."

She found herself whisked away by servants who wore furs. The room they led her to was well-furnished, with a fire crackling in the grate and a tub of steaming water and heavy curtains that touched the floor. More used to thin sheets and a cracked windowpane, and the sound of her father shouting, Jaiyan stared. After being assured it was the right room, and that she was allowed to ensconce herself to her heart's content, she stripped her soaked clothes off and plunged into the bath. The water seared across her skin, banishing all thoughts of the snow and the cold and the village she had run from.

Carrin had promised a place to stay and a place to learn, under Drogan's command. She was no great scholar, she knew, and probably never would be. She could read, and liked to, but found herself gravitating to tales of grandeur and simple, rollicking ballads. She wondered what the _learning_ might mean; parchment and study, or swordplay and woodsman skills? She could trap and hunt and track without shame, one of the few gifts she considered her father to have given her. She could handle a blade roughly and quickly, if not entirely elegantly yet, and she knew her way around a bow and quiver, and she could ride a horse for a day without screaming that her legs had turned to mush.

She dragged herself reluctantly out of the water, and trailed droplets across the floor as she found the towels left near the bed. She discovered a simple set of tunic and leggings on the sheets, and after some deliberation, caved and pulled them on. Her own clothes were wet, and probably needed destroying since she had worn them since the tavern. Regardless of charity, she scooped up her weapons and buckled them back on; she had no cause yet to trust Drogan, despite his initial kindness.

She padded downstairs, crossed the empty entrance hall, and wound her way through corridors until she came across the dining room. There was a long table, piled high with platters. Forced to live on jerked beef and water and little else for the past fortnight, Jaiyan's stomach growled. There was venison, and smoked ham, and fish, and plates of steaming vegetables. Pitchers of dark wine, tankards of foaming ale, and golden-crusted bread.

Drogan sat at the head of the table, a cup in one hand, gesturing and smiling to the others in the room. Seated nearest was a tall, rangy-looking half-orc with a supercilious expression as he speared a slice of venison. Next, another dwarf, female this time, demolishing her way through a platter-full of meat and potatoes and leeks. Finally, a delicate-looking blonde girl, little older than Jaiyan herself, toying with a slice of bread.

"Ah, you're with us again, lass." Drogan smiled. "Do you feel better?"

Jaiyan nodded slowly.

"Good." Drogan raised his cup. "Come and sit have a drink with us, lass."

She stepped towards the table, and the scents of cooked meat and boiled potatoes soaked in butter assailed her.

Drogan held out another tankard. "Come and drink this, lass. I know you like to have a drink."

She looked sharply at him. _I walked in that door less than an hour ago, and now you know one of my favourite pastimes? _"I'm sorry…Drogan, look, I don't know if I've explained this properly, but…"

He shook the tankard at her. "Sit down, lass, and we'll talk about it. _Come and sit down_."

There was something soothing in his voice, something peaceful and tempting. She wanted to sit down beside the half-orc, and take the tankard, and let the ale warm her. She had been riding and then walking so long, doggedly toiling through knee-deep snow and navigating iced-over rivers. She had fallen against frost-rimed boulders and cut her numb fingers, and only discovered the blood after peeling off her soaked and torn gloves.

_Just sit down_, she thought. _Sit down and have that drink. You haven't had one since you finished that awful syrupy liquor you stole from the tavern. Sit down and have a drink. They've even got venison. You haven't had any of that since you killed that buck for Father. _

"Come on, lass. Don't just stand there. Come and join us."

She looked into Drogan's face, saw nothing but compassion and patience.

She took a step forward, and her fingers brushed the edge of the table. Her sword hilt bumped the wood, and the motion startled her. She looked down, and saw that she wore a dagger on her other hip.

"Come on, lass. You're white as a ghost. Sit down and join us."

Very slowly, she drew the dagger and stared at it. She did not know this dagger; had never seen it before, she was certain. The blade was wafer-thin, and jewels were sunk into the hilt. _She could not afford such a weapon_. It was beautiful, and something about it niggled at the back of her mind. _Something she should remember. _

"What's that?" Drogan's amicable voice, slicing into her thoughts. "Pretty knife, lass. Where'd you get it?"

"I…" _I'm not sure. _She turned the dagger, and firelight splintered across the blade, and she _knew_.

A tiefling had given this to her.

A tall, broad-shouldered tiefling with long, scarlet hair.

He had found it in a chest on an island. An island with golems.

She looked sharply at Drogan, and realized that the softness in his eyes was not entirely _him_. Oh, perhaps eventually, they might be, once she defeated the goblins in the woods, and grew up a little more, and learned to treat him not as a suspicious benefactor, but as a mentor.

_But his gaze had never been loving those first six months she had spent in Hilltop. _

Stern, fair, uncompromising; but never loving.

"No," she murmured.

"I'm sorry, lass?"

She gripped the dagger's hilt. "No," she repeated. "This isn't real."

Drogan laughed. "Come again, lass?"

"This isn't real." She stared down at the dagger, and remembered Valen's blue eyes, and his red hair. "This is not real, and I want to see Valen."

Drogan pushed his chair back, approached her with a look of fatherly concern. "Who, lass? Some friend of yours?"

Jaiyan flinched away from him. "Keep away from me. Where's Valen?"

"He's not here, lass. You came on your own. You are on your own."

"No." She shook her head again. "I want to go. This isn't real. I want to see Valen, and I want to see Deekin."

Drogan's hand reached out for hers. "Come on, lass. Come and sit with us."

She recoiled, and her fingers gripped the dagger tightly. The blade sank into her flesh, but she barely noticed. "No…this isn't real…"

_Valen and Deekin…where were they? Were they trapped in some illusion of their own?_ _Some terrible snare the Elder Brain had conjured?_

Drogan grabbed her wrist, and she jerked away. Blood dripped from her palm, and she shouted Valen's name again. Her vision blurred and flickered, and she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, propping her up. She twisted, and her back bumped cold metal. Another arm locked around her waist, keeping her in place.

"It's me," Valen whispered. "Relax. It's me."

She opened her eyes again, and became aware of Valen's breath on the back of her neck, and the broad sweep of his chest against her back. "Valen…"

He turned her around. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Deekin?"

"Here!" Deekin hopped past the tiefling, his wings snapping out wide. "Boss! Deekin saw things…very strange things…"

"I know," she said. "We can talk about it later, yes?" She squeezed Deekin's shoulder. She glanced across to Valen, saw that he was already moving.

Loping across the polished black floor towards the rippling Elder Brain, his flail swinging above his head. The pink, shimmering mass tremored, and a strange whine cut through the air. Jaiyan blinked and shook herself, hating the way the noise sliced into her head.

Valen launched upward, and his flail scythed down. The twin spiked heads on it smashed down into the soft pink flesh, scattering mist and water droplets.

The Elder Brain screamed.

Jaiyan clapped her hands over her ears as it shrieked, and the flesh on its surface writhed. Beside her, Deekin somehow managed to raise his hands and call magic. White light shone around his fingers, and lightning coiled from his flattened palms. Bright, hissing bolts crashed into the Elder Brain's quivering mass, and its screeches peaked. Valen still stood before it, and the flail rose and fell and rose again. His shoulders were braced, and his hair had pulled loose and feathered his armour. Blood showered out, and the Elder Brain's screams faltered. Coated in gore, Valen lashed out at it, bringing the flail down and down again against its trembling flesh.

Jaiyan dragged her gaze up from the floor to his face, saw that his expression was strangely calm, his eyes pale blue. He brought Devil's Bane thundering down one last time, and the shrieks died. The spikes on the flail snagged on torn flesh, and blood spurted again as he yanked it free.

"That's…not pretty." She winced as he shook blood from the flail, and tried not to look at the hacked-apart remains of the Elder Brain. "I guess your idea works well enough."

He turned, breathing hard. "What idea?"

"That if you hit anything hard enough, it eventually falls."

He barked out a quick laugh. "Come on. We don't have much time."

"For what?" About to ask more, her face fell as she heard shouts filtering down the steep stairs. Shouts and cries and the sound of running feet, and metal against stone.

Deekin plucked at her elbow. "Boss…Deekin thinks whole city knows what just happened."

"Damn those psychic powers, hmm?" She looked at Valen's set expression. "What now? Fight our way out?"

His tail twitched angrily. "My lady, I…I lost my temper."

"No, you did exactly what I wanted to do. The difference being, I suppose you were strong enough to actually do it."

"No." He shook his head furiously. "No, I've endangered us all."

She grabbed his elbow, turned him. "What did you see?"

"What?"

"I saw Drogan," she said baldly. "Drogan, and Hilltop, but it wasn't quite right. What did you see?"

His blue eyes flickered, not quite meeting hers. "I saw…I saw someone I knew a long time ago. But she was…different. Not quite herself. Everything was…too nice."

"Yes. I know." Jaiyan shivered, remembering Drogan's wide smile and beaming eyes. "A perfect version of a real memory?"

"Deekin saw Old Master," the kobold said thoughtfully. "And Old Master offer Deekin apple pie and cooked cow meat."

"Beef," Jaiyan muttered automatically.

"But Old Master _never_ like that. Old Master make jokes and be mean and hate paladins and eat mushrooms too much. Old Master not _share_ apple pie."

Pelting footsteps sounded against the stone steps, and Valen turned, hefting his flail. "Stay behind me," he growled. "No arguments."

Jaiyan nodded, her eyes pinned on the stairs. "Only one."

He shot her a quick glare over his shoulder. "What's that?"

"If we survive long enough," she said, very slowly, "We get to those pens and we free those slaves."


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks so much to everyone who's following this story - on my computer it's now over 100 pages, woohoo! Usual disclaimer applies. _

_**Chapter Fifteen – Escape**_

Valen bolted up the steps, Jaiyan inches behind him. Her heart was pounding, and she tried to force aside all thoughts of what might happen if the ilithid sank psychic tendrils into their unprotected minds before they got to those helmets again. With the Elder Brain, it had been sickeningly quick; reality ripped aside between one heartbeat and the next.

She saw the ilithid venerator at the top of the steps, and its tentacles flared angrily. Its clawed hands rose and parted, and it hissed. A crossbow bolt flew past her shoulder, narrowly missed Valen, and thunked into the venerator's shoulder.

The ilithid snarled and staggered. Before it could collect itself, Valen launched himself up the last three steps and cannoned into it. The ilithid collapsed backwards, and its tentacles writhed as Devil's Bane slammed against the side of its head. Without stopping, Valen turned and hooked up the helmets they had left with the venerator. He threw the first to Jaiyan. "Put this on. _Now_."

For once, she did not pause to mumble something sarcastic about being told what to do by tieflings. She clumsily dragged the helmet on, and her pulse steadied a little. She turned to check that Deekin's helmet was in place. "Nice shot, Deeks."

Deekin eyed the bolt still protruding from the ilithid's shoulder. "Deekin not likes mind-flayers."

Beside her, Valen stared ahead. "We don't have much time."

She followed the direction of his gaze, and saw ilithid gliding across the smooth stone towards them. They moved with eerie grace, rippling across the ground soundlessly. _Oh, Gods_, she thought. _Even if they can't eat my brain right now I really, really don't like the look of them_.

"How far to the slave pens?" she asked.

He nodded, indicating the long slope that traveled up to the corrals.

_There's eight of them_, she thought furiously. "Can you take this lot?"

"Yes," he said, matter-of-fact.

"Then I'll go with Deekin to the slave pens."

"No, you will not." He hefted the flail, and his gaze never once left the approaching ilithid. "We do this together."

She opened her mouth to complain, but the nearest ilithid raised long-fingered hands, and fire spat from its palms. She dived away, and the flames seared against the stone. She rolled up to her feet, and heard Valen snarl something, and then the crunch of his flail meeting flesh. Another ilithid swooped towards her, and her resolve almost crumbled. Its tentacles fluttered, and she swallowed. Gritting her teeth, and half-closing her eyes, she ploughed into it, knocking its hands aside and driving one knee against it. As it stumbled away, she tried to ignore its hissing shriek and rammed her sword into its abdomen. She dragged the blade up and out, and the ilithid writhed.

White light cracked out, and she ducked instinctively. The air above her head whined with magic. She spun, still half-crouching, about to throw herself at another ilithid. A crossbow bolt arced out, sinking into the mind-flayer's forehead, taking it off its feet. Feeling slightly thwarted, she straightened up in time to see Valen smashing into the last of the mind-flayers, raking his flail across its chest and leaving it crumpled on the ground.

Without speaking, Valen took off for the slope that lead to the slave pens. Jaiyan pelted along behind him, while Deekin tried to run and reload his crossbow at the same time.

More ilithid waited at the top of the slope, woken magic already crackling between their fingers. Two shots from Deekin downed one of them, and another bolt plunged into a second ilithid's thigh. Some deep, cold spell descended over Jaiyan, and she stumbled. A scream ripped from her mouth as her bones felt turned to ice.

"Jaiyan!" Valen thundered past her. His flail took the head off another ilithid, and the spell broke. "Are you alright?"

She shivered and nodded. "I feel…strange. Cold. Stiff."

He frowned. "Can you fight?"

She nodded again. "Yes. Of course."

He gave her another quick, studying glance, before checking their immediate surroundings. Six more dead mind-flayers lay stretched on the ground, and Jaiyan could not quite help feeling some measure of satisfaction.

At the very pinnacle of the slope, the slave pens were alive with noise and commotion. Humans, drow and gnomes alike, the slaves were on their feet and shouting. Ilithid stalked between them, yanking them away from the fences, sometimes reaching down with long-fingered hands and blanketing their minds with controlling enchantments.

Jaiyan looked at Valen and read her own thoughts on his face.

One step, two, another one, and she was at the first fence, with Valen beside her. Without thinking, she vaulted up and over it, and pushed aside a cowering dwarfish slave. Rearing up in front of her, with some spell sparking between its hands, an ilithid snarled at her. She slammed its hands apart with the flat of her sword. It staggered, and one of the slaves behind it whipped his shackles against its robed ankles. The ilithid whirled around furiously, and Jaiyan drove her sword into its unprotected back.

She leaned past its slightly twitching corpse and helped the slave up. "Thanks. What's your name?"

He was human, scruffy, half-naked and starvation-thin. Matted blond hair hung in thick hanks around his shoulders. "Korell," he answered warily. "Who are you?"

In the corral opposite, Valen mowed down another two ilithid, blood spraying from the whirling heads of his flail.

"We killed the Elder Brain," she said briskly. "So now they're all angry with us. Do you want out of here?"

The slave narrowed his eyes. "How? There's too many of them."

There was the solid sound of flesh meeting stone as Deekin cut down another mind-flayer. "Goat-man! There be four more! Left! Sorry, sorry – _other_ left!"

"Help us," Jaiyan implored. "We can't take them all."

"And where would we go?"

That stopped her cold. The Underdark was all that awaited them, with its shadows and dangers and endless black tunnels. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But would you rather stay here?"

The slave scowled. "No," he said thickly. "Not here." Behind him, others milled, shackles clanking and eyes bright with interest. "Alright. What do we need to do?"

Jaiyan grinned. "Deekin! Get over here and sing these locks open!"

"Yes, Boss!"

While the little kobold chanted, and Valen hacked apart another ilithid, Jaiyan asked, "Do you know how many mind-flayers there are here?"

"Not really." Korell shrugged, dismayed. "I think it's a small city, though."

"What else is here?"

"The arena. That's where they make slaves kill each other."

"And the thralls? Are they mostly near the entrance to the city?"

"Yes. Why?" Korell's face fell. "Oh, gods. They'll still be controlled, won't they?"

She nodded grimly. "Yes. I'm hoping we kill the mind-flayers first, but…"

"No, you can't!" He lurched away from her, and his manacles clanked. "I have…my _son_ is with them."

Jaiyan stared at him and felt her heart twist in her chest. "Then we'll be careful. I'm sorry. That's all we can do."

The chains on Korell's wrists sprang apart, and he cried out. Around him, the slaves lifted their arms, and their shackles slipped off. Deekin exhaled sharply. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"Deekin glad that worked. Deekin be embarrassed if that not worked."

She squeezed his shoulder. "You did fine."

Breathing hard, Valen stepped up to the fence, his flail propped over one shoulder. Jaiyan smiled up at him. "How many that time?"

"Eight," he replied. "Where to next? The arena?"

She nodded and pushed up to standing. Her muscles twinged in protest, and her skin still felt cold and prickling. She looked down at the slaves. "Any of you injured?"

There was muttering, and the rustling of cloth, but none of them spoke. She knew she should have patience, and demonstrate nothing but understanding; the very idea of being a slave, to anyone, much less the ilithid, made her stomach roil. _But they were being so, so…un-cooperative. So distrusting_.

_Well, wouldn't you?_

"Look. I know you're scared. But we have very little time if this is going to work at all. I need you to tell me if any of you are injured because we have healing potions. That's all."

At the back of the pen, a gnome raised her hand. "Here, my lady. He's hurt."

Jaiyan waded through the slaves and knelt. Beside the gnome, a thin drow lay curled on his side, barely aware that the shackles had dropped from his scarred wrists. Long, bleeding welts scored his back and chest and stomach. Jaiyan found a healing potion, and very gently tipped the drow's head up. Pale blue liquid spilled between his lips, and he swallowed reflexively. She moved his hands to the bottle, and he held it himself, and his eyes opened.

She turned to the other slaves, saw that some of them regarded her warily, but somehow more openly. "I have a bagful of these things. They're yours." She unslung the satchel, tossed it across to Korell. "Share them. We're going to the arena."

With that, she heaved herself up over the fence and met Valen's troubled blue gaze. "What is it?"

"I can't decide if that was noble or stupid."

"Probably both." She waited while Deekin fluttered awkwardly over the fence and joined them. "Think they'll help?"

Valen cast a skeptical gaze over the huddled slaves as they passed out the healing potions. "Yes. No. Maybe."

She pouted at him. "You're no help."

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They found the arena beyond the deserted tavern, awash with noise and confusion. The ilithid swarmed around the high-walled edges, shepherding slaves out of the arena proper and onto the ground outside. Most of the fighters seemed to be drow or humans, and they walked with oddly jerking motions of those whose thoughts were not their own. Their eyes were wide and blank as they raised swords and axes.

"Oh, _wonderful_." Jaiyan looked past the thralls, and saw the ilithid raise their arms. The space above them split apart with lightning, and the air hummed. "Now what..?"

Deekin primed his crossbow. "What we usually do, Boss."

She sighed. "You're right."

"Deekin always right, Boss."

"I'll take the mind-flayers." Valen gauged the distance to the arena walls, and was off at a full-speed sprint before she could interrupt.

She muttered something about unhelpful tieflings, and then brought her sword up as the first of the thralls lunged at her. A crossbow bolt whirred into the eye of the second, and a quickly-prepared spell dropped a third. Fighting furiously, aware that she had little time before she would be overwhelmed, she bashed the thrall's sword aside and thrust her dagger into his throat. Moving on, not stopping to check if he was dead, she jumped over him and spun into the next assailant.

She ducked the swing of a flail, and yelped as the flat of a sword glanced across her shoulders. Lurching onwards, she kicked out desperately, sending a thrall staggering back. She closed the distance between them quickly, and her sword plunged into the thrall's chest.

She could hear the ratchet and hiss of Deekin's crossbow, and knew that he could not fire any faster. Bolts winged out at the thralls nearest, clipping one's shoulder and thumping into another's head.

A blade raked across her upper arm, and she swore. She whirled, dived beneath the downward stroke of the same sword, and came up inches from a big half-orc thrall. Reminded abruptly of Xanos, she bit her lip and slashed his throat open.

"Boss!"

She dropped to her knees, and a huge axe swept over her. She rolled to one side, and cried out as the thrall smashed the haft of the weapon against her ribs. The breath shot from her lungs, and she gasped. Somehow she raised her sword, but the thrall was stronger, and the next blow drove her to her knees. She flung herself away, and heard the axe bite against the stone behind her. Turning frantically, she met the thrall's next rush, and her knees wobbled with the effort of pushing him away. "_Deekin!_"

She heard the familiar _twanging_ sound of the string releasing, and the thrall shuddered and tipped over backwards. She shouted a breathless thank-you and turned again, almost leaping into two upraised swords. Swiftly jerking herself away, she used the dagger to thrust one aside, and parried the second. Between heartbeats, she glanced across from the two thralls, and saw more flanking her.

_No time. I've got no time left._

"Deekin!"

"Deekin trying, Boss!"

One of the thralls to her right stumbled and fell, clawing at the bolt that suddenly sprouted from her throat. She twisted the dagger against the blocking sword, and slammed her elbow against the side of the thrall's face. Following up quickly, she sliced his neck open and jumped behind him, desperately trying to give herself space.

The thralls closed in, their expressions uncaring as poured wax. Sweat stung her eyes, and the muscles in her shoulders and arms burned. Blood tracked crimson trails down her temple, and the deep cut on her upper arm throbbed.

Another thrall collapsed, this one seared to charcoal by a lightning bolt.

Jaiyan turned madly, circling, always moving. Keeping her gaze on the thralls as they pressed in closer. She was horribly aware that once they got _too_ close, she was finished; but she saw no way to attack one and not have all the others close in on her.

A female thrall leaped at her, twin daggers flashing. She stopped the downward swing of one with her sword, and bit her lip hard when the second carved a deep ditch across her shoulder. Furious now, she lashed out with one foot and caught the thrall in the stomach. While she staggered, Jaiyan knocked the left dagger from her hand and ran her through. Her sword pulled free with a horrible, steely slither, and she turned in time to see a thrall lunging for her with an axe.

A crossbow bolt rang out, and another thrall fell, pinned through the spine.

She dragged her sword up, and the axe haft slammed against the blade. Her wrists shook, and she knew suddenly that this one – tall, human, and built broader than Valen – would be too strong for her on a good day.

He pushed in closer, and she felt her knees buckle. He wrenched the axe away and slammed the haft against her already aching ribs. She cried out, and spat dirt when she ended up slumped on one side on the ground. She rolled away madly, and winced as his axe thumped down inches behind her. Tasting blood in her mouth, she lurched upright, and nearly fell again when his axe crashed against her sword.

White light speared out, and a thrall thrashed, outlined in bright energy and screaming.

The thrall spun the axe again, and the haft drove into her stomach. Another thrall leaped at her side and smashed her sword out of her hand. The blade skittered across the stone until one of them kicked it further. Her knees hit the stone again, and she cried out. She hurt all over, and her eyes were stinging.

"Boss! Boss, do something!"

_Can't_, she thought dully. _Too many of them_.

The thrall to her right shrieked as a crossbow bolt plunged into the soft flesh above her hips.

But still, there were too many of them, and they circled her now, staring down at her through blank eyes.

She twisted over, tried to dive for her sword, but one of them stamped down on her wrist. Another kicked her in the ribs, and she curled up.

"Boss! Boss, hold on!"

There was a strange, unreadable note in Deekin's voice, but her thoughts were swimming. The thrall raised the axe above her. She found herself staring at his vacant face, at how his eyes swiveled, and looked past her, and seemed…

…_fearful? That can't be right…_

A whirlwind of motion slammed into the thrall, driving him back and pushing the axe aside. The thrall cried out as his weapon was torn away. His voice died into a bubbling groan as his throat was ripped out, and he toppled. Another thrall fell, shot in the stomach. Without pausing for breath, Valen spun his flail above his head and threw himself at the remaining thralls.

Still on the ground, Jaiyan watched with a curiously detached mix of admiration and jealousy.

He was cat-quick as he mowed through them, every stroke counting, every blow that connected dealing death. Seeming somehow able to sense the movements of the thralls behind him, he launched himself into the air and mercilessly hacked and chopped his way through them.

Jaiyan shoved herself up onto her knees and wondering if having a tail helped with that particular maneuver. _Stop – not the right time to consider such things. But surely it helps with balance..?_

The last of the thralls collapsed, his face half caved-in and his eyes rolled up and white. Breathing hard, blood dripping from his flail, Valen turned. "Are you alright?"

She nodded gingerly and felt suddenly unbearably embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I don't usually need rescuing."

"Don't be." He stepped over the dead thralls and helped her up. His hand lingered on her arm as he regarded her. "You're hurt."

"Cracked ribs, I think. A few scratches. I'll be fine."

He snorted and dug in his pack. He threw her a healing potion and said, "Drink it. All of it. You can't run if your ribs are cracked."

She rolled her eyes at him, but complied. The potion flooded her mouth, strangely cooling. The ache around her middle subsided a little, and she breathed in deeply.

"Better?"

"Better." She looked around, and finally noticed the heap of dead ilithid on the arena walls. "You killed them _all?_"

"Yes. What did you want me to do, play cards with them?"

"Funny man." She stared a moment longer. "But the thralls were still…thralls."

"Which means there are more ilithid in the city somewhere."

She was about to ask something, when she saw the slaves they had freed, cautiously edging up the slope. "It's alright," she called out. "They're all dead."

Korell approached, his eyes fixed on the carnage. "The thralls too..?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry."

The slave shook his head. "I…understand. Are there more?"

"Mind-flayers? Yes, somewhere." She rolled her shoulders, and felt the gash on her arm tug. "What are you going to do?"

Korell leaned down and scooped up a sword, balanced it in filthy hands. "I will take whoever will join me and we will hunt them down. There can't be many places to hide in this city."

Jaiyan swallowed. She had to ask, despite the knot that settled in her throat. "Korell…your son?"

He shook his head grimly. "He is not here. Perhaps he is elsewhere…perhaps the mind-flayers killed him before. I have to know."

"I understand." She looked across the other slaves, all of them thin and battered and ragged. All of them leaning down to pick up weapons, testing the weight of swords or axes. "If you…I mean, afterwards…" Her gaze settled on a drow. "Have you heard of Lith My'athar?"

The drow's crimson eyes burned. "Yes…the rumours say it is a place for rebels. For those who worship Eilistraee."

"If you want to, afterwards…go to Lith My'athar. It won't be all that safe, but you'll have food and shelter. And maybe even someone to tell you how to find the surface again."

She glanced helplessly to Valen, who nodded. "Yes, there are maps there that could lead you to the surface, if you survive."

Korell nodded grimly. "Thank you. Maybe we will."

Jaiyan watched them go, haggard and almost broken, and blinked quickly. "Do you think we should go with them?"

Valen watched as the slaves marched down the slope again, making for the main area of the city. "We have barely any healing potions. Deekin's almost out of bolts. You've been injured."

"That's a no, then?"

His hand brushed her shoulder briefly. "We've done enough here."

"I know." She sheathed her sword and sighed. The shadows swallowed the slaves, and she felt curiously bereft. "I just…I don't know."

"What?" he asked gently.

"I just…I feel that, a decision or two aside, I could have very easily ended up like them."

Deekin's nose touched her hand. "Boss better now?"

"Yes. Good shooting today, by the way, Deeks." She shook herself and looked at Valen. "Next move?"

"Back to Lith My'athar. We have to tell the Seer of what we've done. What we've achieved."

"Achieved?" She gazed down the slope, at the gathering shadows and the pin-point white torches. "Is this a victory, then?"

"The ilithid here can no longer offer support to the Valsharess," he said carefully. "You freed people who were doomed to loose their sanity. We are all still alive."

"Oh." She shook herself again and tried to dredge up a smile. "I know. It just…doesn't feel all that victorious right now."

Something passed over his face, something haunted. "I understand, my lady," he murmured. "I do understand."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter Sixteen – Pain**_

Jaiyan trudged along beside Valen, her shoulders still aching and her feet hurting. "I think," she declared, "That I am going to sleep all the way back to Lith My'athar. And then I'm going to sleep some more when I get there."

Valen chuckled. "You've earned a reprieve of a day, at least, my lady."

"Only a day? I was hoping for half a month of peace at least, with warm baths and indolence of all kinds."

"Then I must apologise. The threat of imminent danger makes such indulgences impossible."

She peered at him, not quite sure if he was mocking her.

"How you spells 'indulgences', Goat-man?"

Valen paused and glared at the little kobold. "I am _not_ a dictionary."

"No. You is a tiefling. But Deekin not know how to spell 'indulgences'."

Valen looked helplessly over to Jaiyan, but she just gave him a dazzling smile and a shrug. Teeth gritted, he spelled out the offending word while Deekin jotted it down. "Do you really write down _everything?_"

"Mmm…Deekin _tries_ to write down everything. Some things he forgets. Some things he not spells right."

"Some things he _exaggerates_," Jaiyan added innocently.

"Boss," the kobold said, quickly rebuking. "Deekin told you about this. Sometimes stories need to be made more exciting."

"I don't know, what happened was pretty exciting at the time."

"Yes, but things need to be more, umm…exciting?"

"Oh, so it's my fault for not wearing low-cut armour, is it?"

Deekin blinked. "Well, it was hot in Anauroch, Boss. Boss could've…"

"No!" She glared at him. "No, and no. Besides, it doesn't matter that I didn't. You wrote about it anyway."

Deekin shrugged. "Deekin _artist_, Boss."

"As if that explains everything." She grinned at him. "Well, I suppose it does." She turned to Valen, but before she could speak, he shoved her to one side. His tail stiffened, and he unhooked Devil's Bane.

"Get down!" He stepped in front of her. "Kobold! Spells, now!"

Jaiyan drew her sword and peered round him. "I'm tired, not dead!"

"Stay behind me," he snapped. "I can hear drow."

Running feet over stone reached her ears, along with the familiar sound of metal jangling. A black-fletched arrow blurred out of the shadows and clanged against the rock wall behind her. Another swiftly followed it, then a third. Jaiyan jerked away and edged around to Valen's other side. "How many?"

"At least seven." He flexed his wrist experimentally, and the flail chain rattled.

She looked up the steep stone slope opposite, and saw dark shapes come sliding over the crest. They moved with sinuous grace, seeming almost to float down the incline. She registered briefly that there seemed to be no wizards before Valen growled and bowled into the leading drow. She heard a shriek, and the horrible sound of metal crunching.

Her feet shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to do as he suggested, and stay back, and yet it was difficult; how could she merely stand there and watch while he, as exhausted as she, took on the war party?

_Because he's capable of doing it. In fact, he could probably level an entire army all on his lonesome. _

Even so, she stifled a snarl as his armour absorbed a punishing blow from a drow's spinning mace.

"Damn it all," she muttered, and hurled herself at the drow who stood on braced legs to Valen's left. She slashed out at him, and he turned faster than he anticipated, his own sword slipping in under hers and drawing a red line across her forearm. She cried out and swept a quick blow at his side. She turned, following him as he whirled away from her. She swore as his blade thunked hard against hers, running vibrations up her arm. She lashed out with one foot, kicked the drow soldier squarely in the chest. Kept moving, still spinning…

…into the point of an upraised sword.

There was pain, digging in where her armour went under her belt, sliding up, into her ribs, and then the wrenching, horrible sense of the same sword twisting out.

She staggered, her back hitting the stone wall behind. _Stupid stupid stupid, _her mind raged. _You walked into it! How could you do that?_

She opened her mouth to tell Valen she was alright, when the pain stole breath and thought.

A tall, red-haired shape blurred in front of her, flail spinning and turning, the spiked heads driving the drow aside like so much chaff. Bright arrows of light arced over his head, exploding from Deekin's spread hands.

Some part of her registered more muttering from Deekin, and another wash of white light that seemed indescribably beautiful as it seared against black drow armour. Her gaze shifted, slow as poured treacle, and lingered on the motion of Valen's hair, thrown back over his shoulders as he moved. _Hmm,_ she thought absently. _Pretty_.

She reached out, captivated by the sudden desire to touch his hair, when her knees buckled. She staggered back until her shoulders touched damp rock, and then her eyes started closing, and the ravine seemed grey around her.

Valen's flail smashed into the last of the drow, taking the soldier off his feet, and sweeping him against the rock. Barely stopping for breath, Valen whirled and dropped to his knees beside her. "Jaiyan?"

She swallowed thickly. Her head buzzed, and the pain seemed cold and somehow indistinct. "I think I made a mistake."

His hands touched her side, and she hissed and flinched away. "I have to see it," he said. Gentler, his fingers found her belt, but the sound of rapid footfalls over stone stopped him. "Deekin? Do you hear that?"

Perched on a boulder, the kobold nodded. "More drow."

"I know." Valen straightened up. He picked up his flail again, paused briefly to glance down at her. "Stay alive," he said warningly. "Do you hear me? I don't want to be fending off drow by the dozen if you're not going to stay alive."

Jaiyan smiled faintly. "I'll try."

He melted away from her, and she bit back the urge to call him back, to ask him to stay with her. The pain had settled deep within her, and she could feel the damp warmth of her own blood soaking through her leathers. She had been injured badly before, of course; what adventurer had not? But the dizzy detachment always frightened her, and made her imagine that the gods were watching, and about to choose the next soul to depart for the afterlife. She wondered briefly if she should offer a quick prayer to Tymora.

She heard the sounds of battle, the noise of metal screeching, and moans quickly cut off into choking gasps. Something solid hit the floor nearby, and she heard rapid breathing. The shriek of an unleashed spell cut into her head, and she winced. Sometimes she hated how magic sounded, all clumsy and dramatic.

She tried to move, and pain exploded in her side. She groaned and shut her eyes as nausea tore through her. Hands came down on her shoulders, steadying her, and Valen murmured, "You'd better still be breathing, my lady."

She pried her eyes open, tried to focus on his pale face. "Valen?"

"Yes, I'm still here." With one arm still bracing her, he beckoned Deekin over. "Do you have any healing potions?"

"Only one." The little kobold's face loomed in front of her, his black eyes wide with concern. "Boss be bleeding lots…"

"Yes, I know." Valen's voice sounded rough and unlike himself. His fingers cupped her chin, and she felt something cold push against her mouth. She tried to shy away, but he held her head in place, and liquid flooded across her tongue. She spluttered and shook her head, but he gripped her tighter. "You have to drink this. Come on. Drink it."

Despite the roiling in her gut, she swallowed, if only to get the bottle out of her mouth.

"Good." His gloved hand briefly touched her face. "Now, listen to me. We're close to the river. I'm going to carry you there."

"Carry me..?" She squinted up at him. His face seemed to be rippling.

"Yes. It's going to hurt, but I have to do it. Do you understand?"

She blinked at him. "Yes…"

_Carry me to the river? Why? And why would it hurt?_

He knelt beside her again, and worked one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. She stared blearily up at him. "Why are you picking me up?"

"Because I have to."

As he straightened up, she saw the light swim across his breastplate. "You mean you don't want to?"

"That's not what I meant." Very gently, he gathered her against his chest, made sure her head leaned against her shoulder.

She drew a breath to speak, and the pain surged up again. She bit her lip and pressed her forehead against his armour. "It hurts."

"I know. Hold on, my lady. It's not far."

She felt him walking, moving with those long, easy strides. Smaller footsteps hurried along behind; Deekin, she guessed. She could hear him breathing unevenly, and then water splashing. He shouted something, and the world lurched as he stepped up onto something solid. She blinked, vaguely aware that her vision was becoming patchy. She knew Valen's armour was green, but it seemed to be flickering, turning black.

A door opened somewhere, and she heard him call something out. He shifted, and she groaned as he laid her down on a mattress. Surprised at the sudden softness beneath her, she gazed up Valen's worried face. "Where am I?"

"Back on the boat. Cavallas has already cast off. We'll be back at the city soon."

She smiled, aware of a strange coppery taste in her mouth. "How soon?"

"A few days," he said. He turned his head, shouted over his shoulder. "Kobold? Did you find those potions?"

Deekin hurtled in, a small satchel in his arms. "Creepy boatman says Goat-man owes him for this."

Valen loosened the ties on the satchel. "He would."

He unearthed another healing potion, and Jaiyan muttered something incoherent as the neck of the bottle was pushed between her teeth. Without ceremony, he upended the contents, and she found herself swallowing it quickly to avoid drowning. The pain seemed a little further away now, though her leathers still felt tight and sticky with blood. "Valen..?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Feel tired…"

His hand caught her chin again, turned her head. "You should stay awake for now," he said carefully. "I need to have a look at that wound. Then you can sleep."

She shook her head. Her eyelids were slipping lower with every aching breath. "Too tired…"

"No, stay awake for me." His hands moved, found the catches on her armour. "Jaiyan?"

But her mind was drifting away from her, and she found she could no longer see him properly; only an indistinct sort of paleness in front of her. She opened her mouth to complain, that his face seemed different, but her thoughts spun away from her, and she fell into greyness.

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Valen stared down at her limp form, his forehead furrowed and his hands slick with nervous sweat. Her skin was chalky, and her disheveled brown hair was soaked with perspiration. He exchanged a quick, anxious glance with Deekin and returned his gaze to the buckles on her armour. Cautiously, not yet knowing the extent of the injury, he parted her leathers, revealing her blood-sodden shirt beneath. The wet fabric clung to her pale skin, and he cursed himself for noticing that she had not bothered to lace the collar up properly.

He found the frayed hem and gently peeled the shirt up, pausing when it caught against the wound. Seen from this angle, it seemed the result of a simple, clean thrust with a narrow-bladed sword. Yet such things were deceptive, he knew, and even with the two healing potions he had poured down her throat, she could still sicken, become fevered or infected, even die.

He found a flask in his pack, dripped water onto the fabric. Very carefully pulled the shirt away from her skin, wincing at the sucking sound. Beneath, her flesh was ribboned with blood, the wound above angry and bright.

Briskly, without letting himself think too much, he mopped the blood away. He cleaned the wound next, dabbing gently at the raw edges before pressing bandages over the broken flesh. He tied them off quickly, lifting her slightly. Then he rocked back on his heels and simply looked at her.

"Goat-man thinks Boss be alright?"

He jumped and glared at the little kobold. "I forgot you were there."

"Deekin be mousy-quiet when he wants to be."

"Apparently." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I think she'll be alright. I mean, the wound's clean, she seems to be sleeping normally."

"But Goat-man is worried."

"Yes."

"Deekin worried too."

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Much later, Valen still knelt beside the bed, listening to the rush and swell of water beneath the hull, and Jaiyan's breathing. The latter was ragged, and sounded slightly wet. He had stewed for a while, caved in, and pried her lips open to see if she had blood at the back of her throat. Since he only discovered that she did _not_, he felt mortified at having slipped his fingers into her mouth.

For what seemed uncounted hours now, he had watched her face grow paler and her frame stay dreadfully still. Deekin had made passable mushroom soup, and he had forced himself to eat most of it. Now, the kobold bard was curled up at the foot of the bed and snoring softly, a faster counterpoint to Jaiyan's rasping breaths.

Valen stared at her loose hands and felt utterly helpless.

_Could Zorvak'mur and the Elder Brain have been handled better? Should they have begged the Mirror of All-Seeing from the Seer, to placate the ilithid?_

No, of course not. Given such a treasure, the Elder Brain could have become monstrously powerful.

No, their choice, and the subsequent freeing of the slaves had been the right one. His conscience would have allowed nothing less. And yet, the terrible consequence seared him. Too many healing potions gone in Zorvak'mur, and now Jaiyan lying hurt and barely breathing.

He slammed his fist against his thigh. If she died out here, his own prediction would haunt him; her failure, marked by her death.

"No," he snapped aloud. "You are not going to die. I won't let you."

But his thoughts remained treacherous, and drifted back to that terrible moment the Elder Brain's illusion had lifted. He had been shown someone he thought long lost, and had woken to find that she had not been returned to him, that everything he had seen had been spun by the Elder Brain.

His instinctive, violent reaction had kicked off the events that led to this, to Jaiyan lying still as a broken doll.

_His temper. His memories. His anger_.

He growled low in his throat and tried to calm himself. How exactly was he going to explain this when she woke up? _"I'm sorry, but the Elder Brain showed me someone I used to love, a long time ago. When reality came knocking, I realized it wasn't real, and that she was still dead, and I got very, very angry." _

_Oh, yes, that will endear you._

He wanted to prowl up to the deck and pace out his frustration, but he did not dare leave her. Not when he was not sure if she would live through the rest of the night.

His gaze traveled back to her hands, loose on the covers. Her fingers were finely made, delicate, nicked with small scars and pale. Unbidden, his mind opened up on the recollection of someone else's hands, soft and smelling of cinnamon, running through his hair. _Her_ hands had born no swordplay scars; _her _knuckles had not been roughened with bruises.

_Stop it. Stop comparing_.

But still the memory ran on, and he remembered the way she had pressed her curves against him, how she had been tall enough that he barely had to duck his head to kiss her. How she had crept up dark stairs at night to see him, evading the guards and slipping past the locks. How she had risked everything just to _see_ him that time he had been thrown into the cage. Even now, so much later, he remembered wrapping his fingers around the cold bars and thinking that all was lost.

On the bed, Jaiyan stirred, and he flinched. He felt oddly guilty, entertaining thoughts of another woman while this one had bled through her leather armour only hours ago.

He checked her face and her breathing again, but she did not move further. Her eyelids flickered a little, and he guessed she must be dreaming.

_Of what, I wonder? And who?_

He knew so very little about her, even now, and it startled him to realise that this bothered him.

_For all I know, she could have a husband and three children waiting in Waterdeep._

He considered that possibility for the briefest of instants before concluding that there was no chance Lith My'athar's wayward saviour had a brood of children on the surface.

_Still, that doesn't mean she's not married. Or betrothed. Or simply being waited for by someone. _

_And why does that matter anyway?_

_If she dies, Lith My'athar is doomed. The Seer is damned. _That_ is why we're worried._

Her head turned against the pillows, and he saw frown lines between her eyebrows, and wondered what she dreamed. Her lips parted, and she sighed. Trying to distract himself, he rummaged in the satchel again and found another healing potion. Perhaps he should wake her and convince her to drink it. That way, he could see how she was, _and he could kick his thoughts away from inappropriate things._

He leaned over the bed and gently shook her arm. "Jaiyan?"

Her eyelashes flickered, and those dark blue eyes slowly fixed on him. She tried to speak, coughed, and attempted again. "Valen..?"

Her voice sounded grainy and painful. "Water?" When she nodded, he lifted the flask to her lips, slowly dripped some into her mouth. "How do you feel?"

Her eyes rolled. "About as fantastic as I look."

Despite himself, he smiled. "I need you to drink another healing potion."

"They taste foul."

"It's good for you. It's meant to taste foul." He snapped the cork out of the bottle, passed it to her. "Now, be good and drink it all."

"Yes, nursemaid." She shot him another filthy look, but she downed the contents with a shudder. "I don't suppose you could dose the next one with brandy?"

"Absolutely not." He took the empty bottle from her and gestured at her injured side. "May I see it?"

The slight frown was back. "You don't have to ask."

_Yes, I do,_ he thought. His fingertips brushed her cool skin, and heat rushed into his face. _You managed this just fine when she was out cold,_ his thoughts told him firmly. _Yes, but that's why_. He undid the bandages, peered at the angry red wound beneath. "It looks better," he conceded. "I want you to keep drinking these, though. And you're not allowed to move until we get back to the city."

She arched a dark eyebrow at him. "Really? And just _how_ are you going to keep me occupied?"

A few ideas rose into his mind, and he coughed. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Hah. I'll hold you to that." She accepted the satchel from him, dug around for another potion. "Valen?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe…" Her gaze moved, leveling at the bottle in her hands. "Maybe you could tell me about when you were a slave. If you want to." Her face scrunched up. "I didn't mean it quite like that…I meant I'd like to hear about what happened to you."

"Really?" He searched her face, hating that he still expected derision, or deception. He saw nothing past innocent curiosity in her eyes, and fading pain. He wanted to tell her – wanted to tell her _everything_, he realized – but he was afraid that she would despise him afterward.

_After all,_ he thought, _what normal woman wouldn't? After all the things you did? _

"Very well," he said, a little shakily. "Go to sleep, and we'll talk in the morning."

"Hmm." She eyed him suspiciously. "It's always dark around here. How do I know it's not already the morning and you're trying to trick me?"

He laughed. "My lady?"

"Yes?"

"Go to sleep."


	17. Chapter 17

_Another huge thank-you to everyone who's keeping up with and reviewing this story - knowing people are enjoying it makes me feel good :)_

_Usual disclaimer applies, of course.  
_

_**Chapter Seventeen – Return**_

Jaiyan woke to the sound of the door opening. She blinked against the sudden flare of a lantern, and made out the edges of Valen's armour, and the deep red of his hair. He carried a tray with bread and cold meat and, to her disgust, yet more healing potions. "Do you ever take that armour off?"

He glanced down, utterly nonplussed. "I'm sorry?"

"Never mind." She lifted herself against the pillows and winced. "Oh. Gods above. I feel like I've been ripped apart."

"Which is why you need to drink these."

"I knew you were going to say that." Sourly, she accepted the healing potion from him and sipped gingerly at it. "You've really missed your calling as a nursemaid."

"So you keep suggesting. Does that mean I'm compassionate, understanding and patient?"

"No, it means you're unflappable, unperturbable, and just plain mean." She finished the first bottle and grimaced.

"My lady flatters me." He took the empty bottle from her and passed across the plate. "Eat something."

She stared down at the food, and her stomach flipped. "I'm…not really sure I want to."

"You have to," he said firmly. "You've been asleep for hours."

She snorted, but reached down anyway and found a small chunk of bread. "Yes, mother."

He sat on the end of the bed, and his tail laced around himself slightly, reminding her again of a cat. "Your kobold is up on deck, if you were wondering."

Jaiyan swallowed, and shuddered as her stomach roiled in protest. "What's he doing?"

"Singing to Cavallas. Eat slower."

"_Singing_ to that creepy ferryman?"

Valen shrugged. "He's enjoying himself. And Cavallas doesn't seem to care. Or if he does, I can't tell."

She giggled. "It wasn't the Doom Song, was it?"

"No." Valen groaned. "It was something about charging across endless wastelands and rescuing fair princesses."

"So you listened." She grinned and tore the bread into smaller pieces. He was staring at the blankets, and she could see the tension in the line of his shoulders. "Valen? Is something wrong?"

His head snapped up. "No…no, nothing's wrong. You…yesterday, you asked if I would…talk to you?"

"Yes." She searched his face, and saw the expression of a man about to be led to the gallows. "But the way you're looking right now, you don't have to say anything, if you don't want to."

"No, I want to." He drew in a shuddering breath. "It's just…I've only ever spoken of this to the Seer. So…it might come out all wrong."

She grinned at him. "You've heard me speak, haven't you?"

That raised the smallest hint of a smile. "Yes, but this…is different." His head lifted, and she saw that strange, remembering distance in his blue eyes again. "I spent a few years on the streets in Sigil. Running with thief gangs, mostly. We stole what we ate, or coin and jewels to barter for food."

His tone was wary, and she sensed again that he expected some kind of rejection, or rebuke. Instead, not at all aghast, she merely nodded. "You do what you have to do."

"Yes, you do. In Sigil it is not at all uncommon to see demons and other creatures walking the streets alongside everyone else. There was a demon…his name was Grimash't. He saw me, and recognized me as a tiefling. So he…took me."

"Took you where?"

"Firstly to his fortress, where I was trained. And then, to the Blood Wars themselves, where I became a battle slave."

There was a brittle detachment in his voice that lacerated her. Her fingers clenched around the plate. "What does that mean?"

"It means I fought for him." He stared down at his hands, loosely wrapped over his knees. "Wherever his followers found devils, or wherever we were summoned to fight, we fought. There were so many of us, to begin with…and so many less as the years went on. He always found more, more of us to shackle into service. We…I…did some terrible things. On those battlefields, I gave in. To everything."

"Valen…" She pushed the plate aside. "How long did this go on?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "Years, I suppose. Maybe decades."

"_Decades?_ How old _are_ you?"

One side of his mouth curled up. "Tieflings live a long time, my lady. I don't know, though. I was little more than a child when Grimash't pulled me off the streets of Sigil."

His casual acceptance of such things, of devils and demons, and wars in places she did not know existed, of slavery in service to a demon who bought and sold lives like so much wheat; all of it made her feel somehow small. "I warn you now," she said shakily, "I have nothing near so dramatic in my past. So if you were expecting something exciting, prepare to be disappointed."

"I forgive you," he murmured.

She exhaled slowly. His expression had closed over again, and she knew, just _knew_, there was more to his story. _Something that he's afraid to say_. "But you're here now, in the Underdark. How did that come about?"

"We were summoned. To fight against drow forces. Drow that happened to be led by the Seer. I'd killed, I don't know, dozens of them, it felt like. And I…came face to face with her. And she just _looked_ at me." His voice caught. "She looked _into_ me. I can't think of any other way to describe it."

Jaiyan stayed silent, watching him.

"Afterwards, back at Grimash't's fortress…he started to notice my…difficulty. I couldn't concentrate, somehow. Killing wasn't so easy. Every night I saw her face, and that _look_."

"What did Grimash't do?"

Valen's mouth flexed grimly. "He tortured me."

The words floated between them, tenuous as blown glass. She could not imagine anyone – not even a full-blooded demon – tying Valen down and having him tortured. The tiefling was too big, too solid, too strong. "Tortured..?"

"For months, or years. I'm not sure." His eyes slid closed. "Demons…are very, very good at it."

"Valen…" She leaned forward, pressed her hand against his. The skin beneath her touch was warm, but unresponsive. "I'm sorry."

"When I didn't break as quickly as he wanted, he…" His eyes were still closed, and his face was pale as cut marble. "He brought in someone I cared for. And he…killed her. In front of me." A shudder ran through him, and his eyes snapped open. He snatched his hand away from hers. "I'm sorry. I've…said too much." He pushed up to his feet, eyes flickering, looking anywhere but at her. "My lady, I'm sorry, I can't…"

He shoved away from the bed and made it to the door in three long strides. Jaiyan stared down at the forgotten bread and thoughtfully chewed on the inside of her cheek. _How could someone be made to endure so much? And why had he thought she would react badly to hearing it?_

She kicked the sheets off and groaned as she straightened up. _He was so unlike anyone she had ever known. He was angry and gentle and stubborn. Short-tempered and considerate and arrogant and chivalrous. He had seen and done terrible things. Yes_, her thoughts told her, _But haven't we all?_

_I don't think hearing your mother getting beaten is the same as seeing her dead body. I don't think killing bandits is the same as being a battle slave for so long you forget who you are. I don't think having a drunk for a father is the same as having a cambion for a father_.

Irritated at herself, she swung her legs off the bed and winced as the impact tore through her side. She pressed her hand to the bandages, felt that they were still dry and clean. She ignored her boots, and the loose tunic left draped over her pack, and padded out barefoot and in her shirt and leggings.

She found him at the prow, standing with white knuckles clenched around the rail. His tail lashed, and the firm set to his jaw was defiant. She stood beside him, rested her own hands on the rail, and noticed again how big his were. "What was her name?"

For a long moment, he stared at the dark, curving cavern above. "Kyreia."

Jaiyan felt the sudden, irrational brush of jealousy. "Pretty name." She studied his profile, and wondered if he had always been so pale, or if life in the Underdark had drained his skin of colour. "Who was she?"

"She was a mortal servant of Grimash't's."

_Alright, so this is going to be like pulling teeth_. "What did she look like?"

"She was very tall," he said in monotone. "Her hair was black and very long. She was very beautiful."

_Of course, she would be beautiful. That's not fair_. Jaiyan pushed back such childish, envious thoughts and kept her gaze on the dark water. "How did you meet her?"

"I killed a particularly hated enemy of Grimash't's. He gave me new chambers, all to myself. She cleaned them, and one morning, I met her."

"You loved her."

"Yes." His head turned, and his blue eyes were fierce. "What is this, an interrogation?"

"I'm curious," she said honestly. "I want to know you better."

"Do you?" He regarded her sharply. "Why?"

Thrown, she spluttered, "I don't know. I just…do. Since I can't think of a better excuse, will that suffice?"

He snorted. "For now. What about you, my lady?"

"What?"

His blue eyes gleamed knowingly. "Since I now feel that my soul has been laid bare and thoroughly skewered, what about you? Who do you have waiting at home?"

"What?" _Is that what he thought?_ "Waiting at home? Valen, I don't even…home to me is the taproom at The Yawning Portal. Or wherever I happen to be at the time. Hilltop was a fairly good stand-in, but you know what happened there."

He stared stubbornly at her, refusing to back down.

She bit her lip, surprised that she felt so _hurt_. "Valen, there isn't anyone. There's never…there's never really _been_ anyone."

His eyes widened. "Never?"

"Not really." She grimaced at him. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not that old."

His scarlet eyebrows met, and he could see him thinking. "What do you mean, never _really_ been anyone?"

_Why the hells do you want to know? _She sighed. "Alright, you want my shockingly sordid past? The place where I grew up, there was a boy called Tarlin. I kissed him behind the forge one day, and my father caught us. He thrashed me black and blue."

"And the boy?" Valen asked quietly.

"Was sent home with a stern word. He was too scared of my father to talk to me again after that. After I left, and I was working at that tavern, there was a young man by the name of Corwyl. His parents owned a dye shop in town. He was nice-looking, and he was sweet to me." Closing her eyes, she could recall his face immediately; wide brown eyes, thick chestnut hair, and an innocent, smiling, handsome face. "He came in most nights, and eventually we…well, you know what I mean."

"What happened?"

"Someone prettier." She shrugged, but there was still that old sting, the feel of being wronged without knowing exactly _why_. "So. There it is."

Valen turned to face her, his face softer. "Did you love him?"

"Corwyl? I don't know. I thought I did, at the time." She smiled, a little bitter. "I certainly hated him at one point."

"Thank you for telling me." Valen smiled, tentatively. "And…I'm sorry about before. Walking out on you."

"It's alright." She grinned. "Truce?"

"Truce."

She watched the water rushing past, and wished that it were clear, or blue, or frothing properly. "I'm actually hungry. Do we have anything exciting for lunch?"

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Some days later, Jaiyan surfaced from strange, half-remembered dreams to the sound of the boat bumping up against wood. She recalled odd details, dark, dripping caves, swarming with drow. Corwyl's beautiful face as he kissed her, and the pleasures that followed, and waking up tangled with him. Deekin, as he begged her and Xanos for help. Valen, as he brought his flail smashing down again and again into the Elder Brain. _And all for the memory of a lover who had been taken from him_.

"Jaiyan? My lady, are you dressed?"

She flinched and called through the door, "Ah…not quite. Give me a moment, yes?"

She found a clean shirt, yanked her boots on and stuffed any scattered belongings into her pack quickly. Slow thoughts caught up with her, and she finally realized that the boat stopping meant they were back at Lith My'athar. And that, ridiculously, she felt _glad_.

Her side still ached, and she wore an impressive scar beneath the bandages, but she could move better, and Valen had assured her the Seer was a competent healer. A little lopsided, she heaved her packs on and made her way out onto the deck.

Deekin perched on the rail, his wings flapping excitedly as he pointed to the tall spires of Lith My'athar. "Boss! We be back."

She smiled. "I know, Deeks. And I remember, I promised to get you new boots."

The kobold nodded. "Deekin wants to sell jewels, as well."

Valen waited beside the gangplank, still in full armour. "My lady?"

"You know, I feel like I'm coming home somehow," she confessed quietly. "Is that strange?"

A smile curved his lips. "Not really."

After a brief, uneasy farewell to Cavallas, she followed Valen onto the quay, and into the city proper. The tall black buildings with their elegant, drow designs seemed less alien after Zorvak'mur. Even the marketplace, filled with drow merchants shouting prices, and drow accepting or haggling seemed reassuringly normal after the vacant-faced thralls in the ilithid outpost.

About to head for the tavern, Jaiyan jumped when Valen clapped a hand down on her shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"Ah…for a drink?"

"No. We need to speak to the Seer first."

She wrinkled her nose. "Alright," she conceded. "Just this once."

"My lady is most gracious."

Deekin plucked at her sleeve. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"Can Deekin go to the tavern?"

"Without me?" She smiled and touched his shoulder. "Course you can. We'll see you there later?"

He nodded. "Deekin has new composition to sing."

"Alright. Don't talk to any strange drow."

Deekin gave her a perturbed look. "Boss not funny sometimes."

While the little kobold darted away, his wings trailing behind him, Jaiyan coughed, vaguely embarrassed. "So. The Seer, then?"

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They were admitted to the Seer's quarters at the temple almost immediately. While Valen professed something about knowing the saviour of Lith My'athar was safe, Jaiyan privately reckoned it had more to do with the tiefling's threatening expression. Inside, they found the Seer at her writing desk, her long, snowy hair twined up on her head in twin braids. She turned as the door opened, and smiled. "Come in, both of you."

Presented with the drow woman's effortless grace, Jaiyan felt abruptly clumsy and loud. She sat beside Valen on the long black divan and waited while the Seer arranged herself opposite. She glanced across at the tiefling, and her jaw nearly dropped when she saw the soft, patient cast to his face; he was simply _waiting,_ his hands loosely clasped, his breathing even, almost serene.

She had never seen him with Seer before, and she suddenly understood. Whatever this drow woman had done to him or for him, she had given him some measure of peace.

"Now." The Seer poured pale, chilled wine into three cups and gestured to a plate of sweetmeats. "How have you fared so far?"

In spare, unadorned phrases, Valen explained; he told her of the golem island, of the alliance they had forged. He spoke of the trip to Zorvak'mur, and the death of the Elder Brain, and the freeing of the slaves.

"You have done well," the Seer said quietly. "You give me the mirror, bring us an alliance, and free those bound in thralldom to the ilithid. You have done well."

Jaiyan felt her cheeks colour. "We did what we had to do."

"Of course." The Seer's silver eyes rested on her, piercingly. "You are injured."

She shifted. "No, I'm fine, really. My tiefling nursemaid has been pouring healing potions down me since it happened."

The Seer smiled. "You still hurt, though. Come here."

A little uneasy, Jaiyan approached the Seer. "Why?"

"So I can heal you. Show me the wound."

She unbuckled her belt and yanked her tunic and shirt up. The bandages were slightly stained, and Valen frowned as he saw. "I thought I told you to be careful."

"Sorry. It's probably from when I jumped onto the quay."

Cool fingers touched her skin as the Seer unlaced the bandages. Beneath, the wound was almost closed up, the flesh around it less angry. "A sword-thrust. Painful."

"Hazard of the job," Jaiyan muttered.

The Seer's hands fanned out just above the wound. A murmured word, a surge of waking power, and Jaiyan felt warmth sink into her side. "Thank you," she said, still somewhat uncomfortable.

"You are most welcome." The Seer smiled luminously. "Now, I must speak with Valen. How do you feel now?"

"Fine," she answered, feeling somehow snubbed. _You wanted out of here as quickly as possible a moment ago. Now you want to stay?_ She arched an eyebrow at Valen. "I'll be in the tavern."

Outside the temple, she found the marketplace still awash with noise and life and conversation. Weaving her way through the drow, she noticed wryly that they seemed to stare less at her. She ducked into the tavern, and breathed in the familiar warmth and smells of heat and ale.

Deekin was already ensconced at the hearth, on his way to a mighty crescendo matched by the shower of notes he coaxed from his lute. She meandered past the drow patrons and hid her smile as his voice slid up onto a scale probably never meant to be plundered by kobold singers. At the bar, she beckoned the innkeeper, and registered vaguely that there were drow males to either side of her as she waited.

"So," said a low, measured voice. "How goes the quest, saviour?"

She accepted a tankard from the innkeeper before turning. Prepared to deliver a waspish remark, she instead found herself looking at Imloth. "Commander," she said, startled. "I didn't expect to find you in here."

"Oh, a commander can't enjoy his evenings?"

She smiled, enjoying his relaxed tone. "Of course he can. What are you drinking?" By way of answer, he tipped his cup towards her, showing her some strange dark red concoction. "I'm not sure I want to know what that is."

He laughed. "So you're surviving this far, then?"

"Yes," she said, and grimaced. "Made a few mistakes in Zorvak'mur."

"Everyone does. How's the general been treating you?"

"Valen? Fine." She frowned. "If you get past the bad temper, and the insistence that I'm going to betray everyone. Though he has been getting better with that lately."

Imloth laughed again. "He's a good man, Jaiyan."

"I know," she said thoughtfully. "It's taken me a while, but I do know that."

He gave her a sharp, considering look. "Has he told you about the time the Valsharess attacked?"

"No. Not yet."

"Ask him. What he did that day…" Imloth shook his head. "Just ask him."

She stared down into her ale for a long moment. "Commander, I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For when you and Valen rescued me from the terrible trio."

Imloth's white eyebrows rose. "Oh, you mean Nalros and his cronies? You could have taken them."

"Well, probably, but it's not my city."

"Oh, I don't know. You had your sword out and looked ready to gut him," Imloth said challengingly.

"He was asking for it," she protested. "Anyway…thank you."

"You're welcome." He drained his cup and shuddered. "And now I will leave you and your kobold the rest of the evening."

Jaiyan watched him go, narrow-hipped and slim even among the other drow. She turned back to her tankard and stared down into it. Usually, if she felt so upended, so confused, she would simply drink herself into oblivion and try not to think about her father. _It's different. He always got angry and hit people. I don't do that. _

This was too strange, though. After Heurodis had been defeated, a difficult decision for her was no greater than deciding whether or not to take up some mercenary's offer of killing trolls or orcs. Or occasionally trekking for a few weeks into the mountains and cleaning out some bandit lair. After which, she could come back, clean the blood off, and collect her spoils. Coin enough to keep her in weapons and ale and until the next job came around. But now, down here in the darkness, all her choices seemed so much more raw, so much keener.

_Well,_ some treacherous thought pointed out, _You've never before had to decide how you feel about a tiefling who looks at you with eyes that could shame ice. _

She slammed the tankard down, and almost called the innkeeper over for another. Something – some insistent, digging thought – stopped her. Tonight, for once, she found she wanted her thoughts clear, even if they did keep drifting back to the tiefling she had left with the Seer.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter Eighteen - Swordplay**_

Jaiyan woke, and was mildly surprised to feel silk sheets beneath her cheek. Too many days on Cavallas' boat and trudging through uncounted leagues of dark caverns had become ingrained, and opening her eyes in a proper bedroom – even one designed by an architect with too great a fondness for cobweb motifs and black metal – was a welcome relief.

Feeling lazy and self-indulgent, she took the time to have another bath, soaking out the last of the aches and twinges in her muscles. She even let herself dress slowly, forgetting her leathers, and wearing a mostly clean shirt, and a soft blue tunic that had once been bright. She brushed her hair back over her shoulders and left it loose. Knowing she did not have to strike out into the Underdark today felt like a remarkable luxury, and she even found herself enjoying the idea of having a couple of days in the city to herself.

Outside, she found Lith My'athar already buzzing with activity, and wondered guiltily how long she had slept. On her way through the merchant stands, she was accosted by Deekin.

"Boss!"

"Deekin. How are you?"

He peered up at her. "Boss slept in _all_ the morning?"

She fidgeted. "I did not."

"Boss did." He nodded solemnly. "It be after lunchtime."

"Oh."

"Deekin wonders…"

"Yes?"

"Deekin wonders if it be alright for Deekin to buy new boots?"

She smiled at his earnest expression. "Of course it is. You don't have to ask me things like that. You know that, right? The money we make, we can spend, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, but Deekin likes to check."

"Do you have enough on you?"

"Yep."

"Then go find something elegant." She propelled him away from her before he could argue. His sparkling black eyes fixed on a merchant, and he was off again, charging through the drow with his wings arched up behind him.

Still smiling, Jaiyan ambled her way to the dusty section Valen and Imloth had turned into part practice-yard, part parade-ground. Lines of archery butts at one end, and sweating drow working through swordplay on the far side. She noticed Nathyrra and Imloth watching from the sidelines, while Valen stalked up and down, barking orders.

She winced as she heard him berate a stumbling drow. "He doesn't pull his punches, does he?"

Nathyrra smirked from her perch near the weapons racks. "Never. They hate him for it, but they're too scared of him to say anything to his face."

Jaiyan gestured at the lines of gleaming shortbows. "Do you mind?"

Imloth waved an elegant hand. "Be my guest. Just expect a full appraisal of your skills from his majesty the general."

Jaiyan laughed. She scanned the weapon rack, found a lean, polished black bow. She tightened the string thoughtfully, testing the weight. "Beautifully made," she remarked. Imloth tipped his head, quietly pleased.

She found herself a handful of white-fletched black arrows. "I'd prefer it if you didn't look to begin with. I haven't reacquainted myself with archery for a long time."

Nathyrra smiled. "We promise."

She tested the strength of the bow, was impressed as the arms curved and held, the string taut and unmoving. She nocked the first arrow, sighted on the target. The arrow sailed out and thunked, off centre by a good two feet. "Ah, well. That's what practice is for, I suppose."

A rustle of fabric behind her, and Imloth spoke gently over her shoulder. "Remember, it's not a longbow. Keep it closer to your body. These bows are for quick firing in close quarters, though their long range is surprisingly good as well. Sight and then draw it tight quickly, or you'll waver since you're out of practice."

He leaned around her, settled the bow against her. She glanced across at his dark-skinned, handsome features; his eyes were narrowed in concentration. "Better?"

She nodded, sighted down the second arrow. She drew the string back to her jawline and released. The shaft flew, and plunged into the target a good thirteen inches closer to the centre.

Imloth nodded, satisfied. "I'll get back to you this evening."

"How long away is this evening?"

"Keep this up, and I'll start calling you 'recruit'."

Jaiyan saluted mockingly. "Absolutely, sir."

While Imloth returned to his vantage perch with Nathyrra, she loosed five more arrows. The last two hit infuriatingly close to the heart of the target. She turned away to find more arrows, and noticed Valen watching her.

"At least let me do it again before you grace me with the honesty of your opinion," she said brightly.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Go on, then."

Feeling suddenly nervous, she scooped up another five arrows. The skin between her shoulders prickled as she turned back to the target. She fired in rapid succession, almost too fast; she fumbled the string on the last two, and they wavered wildly off-centre and jammed in the edge of the target.

"Not atrocious," Valen allowed briskly. "Given that I had no idea before this if you even knew which way round to hold a bow."

"You flatter me." She glanced past him, saw his wearied drow recruits trudging away from the practice square. "Alright, something I do know, then?"

He blinked at her. "You want to spar? With me?"

"At least then I'll have all your criticisms up front, rather than you having to wait until the middle of a fight with some snarling critter or something." She carefully laid the bow back on the rack. "But you have to use a sword or something. Not that dreadful monster of a flail. I'd prefer to keep my skull unbuckled-in for now."

A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. He made no move to unfasten the flail sheathed across his shoulders, but he did approach the hand-to-hand rack. He scooped up a quarterstaff, with its double heads padded. "Suitable?"

"It'll do." She found herself a blunt-edged longsword, the point wrapped in leather. "Alright, the rules. No maiming, no unsportsman-like bludgeoning…anything else?" Past the tiefling, she could see Nathyrra's shoulders shake.

"Unsportsman-like bludgeoning?" Valen repeated, bewildered. "Very well. Fight until unconsciousness or until one of us yields?"

"Ouch. You like to play rough, I take it?" She sighed dramatically. "Very well. On your mark, tiefling."

She stepped away from him, felt the weight of the practice sword. She poised herself lightly, watched him over the blade.

Valen attacked first, swinging in with the quarterstaff balanced between his hands. She blocked the motion on one side, turned to meet his follow-up stroke with the other end of the staff. She danced away from him, smiling. "Are you going easy on me?"

He growled. "Never, my lady."

He bulled forward, twisted the staff in his hands. The ends whirred past her face, and she jumped back a step. He followed quickly, batting her sword aside with two more sharp movements. Jaiyan lurched away from him, startled. She snapped her wrist round, and the sword scored against the quarterstaff, giving her enough space to settle her weight against his next approach.

Valen drove the quarterstaff at the side of her head; she melted away from him, pushed past him. Her blade glanced against the staff as she backed away. He closed the distance, and flicked the end of the staff past her guard, and into her stomach. She doubled over, gasping. She dragged herself away from him, staggered as the padded end of the staff glanced across her shoulder. Swearing viciously, she found her balance, turned in time to meet his onrushing attack. His full weight crashed into her, driving her back further. She skipped away madly, brought the sword up to block the blurring quarterstaff. She wrenched the sword away, swung out at him again, only to be thrust away.

Jaiyan darted ahead of him, sword held low. He spun the staff, then swept it at her, driving in towards her head again. She dropped to her knees, snatched up a handful of grit. Pushing back up, she flung the grit at him and backpedaled briskly.

"You fight dirty, my lady," he complained.

"Of course I do," she called to him. "You're over six feet tall."

She twisted away from his next rush, struck wildly under his arms, and was rewarded by the clang of the blade against his armour. But as she pulled away, he grabbed her wrist and yanked. She toppled forward, threw herself sidewards to avoid the plunging sweep of the quarterstaff.

Jaiyan rolled away from him, came back up to her feet. She spun, blindly blocking his next strike. She saw him lunge for her and reacted too slow; his sweeping kick took her feet out from under her. She hit the ground hard, spat dust. She twisted over onto her back, lashed out with both feet. Caught him a glancing blow to the inside of one thigh. With a certain amount of satisfaction, she saw him grunt and stumble.

She scuttled backwards, scrambled up to her feet again. Valen charged at her, and she stubbornly held her ground. She brought the sword up, and the strength of impact shook her arms. He flipped the quarterstaff, driving the edge of it against the back of her knees.

She swayed, and tried to back away, to gain ground. But his tail lashed out, wrapped around her wrist and twisted. She glared at him. "You cheat!"

He smiled at her indignation. "Says she who tries to hit below the belt."

She struggled against his hold, but he tightened his tail around her arm and tugged her towards him. "Truce, my lady?"

His tail was warm against her skin, she noticed. "For now," she said ungraciously.

He laughed. "Let me buy you a drink, to sooth your wounded pride."

"Pride? _You_ are not the one to lecture about _pride_, tiefling!" She stopped, realized that he was still laughing at her. She sighed and dropped the practice sword. "Oh, alright. But it better be an expensive drink."

"As my lady wishes."

Footsteps behind her; she felt Valen's tail slip off her wrist as Imloth approached, smiling ruefully. "That was certainly entertaining," the drow commented wryly. "Though I for one am glad there are no broken bones or lost blood."

"Next time I'll let him use the flail."

Imloth glared at her. "And it will be _me_ who has to go and tell the Seer that her saviour's brains are splashed all over the floor. So _no_, he won't be using the flail to spar with you."

Jaiyan grinned. "Join us for a victory drink?"

"_Victory_ drink?" Valen cut in sharply.

"Joint victory, my proud tiefling," she explained airily.

Imloth chuckled. "Later, perhaps."

"Your loss, my friend." She crooked an eyebrow at Valen. "A _really_ expensive drink?"

"The best Lith My'athar has to offer," he promised solemnly.

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Inside the tavern, all was quiet. Soft light fell from the latticed lanterns. Jaiyan slouched back against her chair, hands wrapped around a strange dark green concoction that the innkeeper assured her was the dearest drink he sold. Valen watched her over a cup of more normal ale. "What's it like?"

She sipped the drink tentatively. "Warm."

"I'm not taking responsibility for any terrible effect that has you," he warned.

"Vanquished by a strange drow drink. That would be typical, somehow." She saw his forehead crease; his eyes flickered pensively. "What is it?"

Valen laid his hands on the table, stared at them. "I need to ask you something."

"That sounds ominous."

His expression did not change. "What makes you so special, my lady?"

She gulped down too much of the green drink and spluttered. "What?"

"I have been with the Seer for months. Training her soldiers. Leading them. And suddenly _you_ arrive…" He leaned back, shoulders rigid. "And now I'm deferring to you. And unless I'm very much mistaken, you have no experience of this kind of thing."

She blinked at him. "What? You think I'm here to take all your credit and steal your command?" She laughed. "You're joking, right? I will do all I can to help you against the Valsharess, but _you're_ the one in charge of the troops, as far as I'm concerned."

He searched her features, obviously not convinced. "I have been doing all I can to turn these drow into soldiers. I would not want to see them harmed by your…inexperience."

"You mean incompetence." She sighed, leaned forward. "Valen, I can keep saying this, and I don't even know if you hear it. I am not going to betray you. I am not going to betray the Seer. And I _will_ need your help. I _have_ needed your help."

His cold blue eyes did not soften. "I hope so."

Jaiyan lifted the drink, pushed back the urge to snap at him. "So tell me," she said lightly. "How did the drow first take to your leadership?"

"They despise anything that is not drow. To begin with, that included me." He shrugged, matter-of-fact. "After a while, they learned to listen to my orders. I think perhaps my demonic heritage helped, for once."

"You mean you could shout louder than they could?"

"Something like that." His gaze lifted, met hers. "I am sorry. I do not meant to keep doubting you…"

"Yes, you do." Without rancor, she smiled. "I dropped out of nowhere. And now you have to put up with me and Deekin. That can't be easy. Especially after everything you've done."

His fingers around the tankard handle were bleached white. "Yes, I…just yes."

"Imloth mentioned you'd had engagements with the Valsharess' forces." The strange drow drink burned down her throat. "What happened?"

"The expected," he answered, brittle. "In large numbers, drow fight like two great shadows meeting. The last time, we lost a lot of soldiers." His eyes were vacant, fixed on some point beyond her shoulder. "I made them run. So we did, running away from the Valsharess and her troops, and we made it back to Lith My'athar. Some of us."

"You saved them," she said quietly.

"Perhaps." His fingers loosened on the tankard. "I hope so." His gaze flicked up, lit on her face again. "You look tired, my lady."

She scowled. "I know. I feel…exhausted. Even though I haven't done much today."

"You're recovering," he admonished mildly. "You're allowed to be tired."

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Part of her wanted to stay, wanted to call the innkeeper over. After all, what could go wrong with a few drinks on the table? But her weariness cut bone-deep, and she could not quite bring herself to even finish the strange dark green drink in front of her. "Valen, I think you're going to have to excuse me. Otherwise I might pass out at the table, and I know that's not very ladylike."

He smiled. "Might I escort my lady to her chambers?"

A sudden blush flooded her face. _What are you, fifteen?_ "Yes," she said, somehow controlling her voice. "I'd like that."

He walked her the short distance to the temple without speaking. Usually, such silences did not bother her; hells, she crossed leagues with Deekin without talking sometimes. And yet the knowledge of his presence, just beside her shoulder, made her prickle and wonder if she should speak. _And what would you say? Thank you for the strangest drink ever? Thank you for saving my life? Thank you for telling me about the Blood Wars?_

She half expected him to leave her at the temple doors, but he accompanied her up the swirling black stairs to the second floor. _What are you going to do now?_ Her thoughts demanded viciously. _Invite him in for a nightcap? _

_Why not?…Except it's the middle of the afternoon._

"Where's your kobold?"

Dragged from her thoughts, Jaiyan blinked. She registered that her door was in front of her, and that Valen stood beside her. "Oh…probably writing some thundering epic. That or trying desperately to remember everything we said or did in Zorvak'mur."

Valen smiled, and she could have sworn she saw uneasiness in his eyes. "Well, my lady, I'll leave you to your sleep and your thoughts."

"Yes, I'm sure I'll be able to find my way to my bed on my own." The instant the words left her mouth, she winced. _Oh, that's clever. Just shut up and die now_, she thought desperately. "Good night, Valen."

His eyes sparkled. "Good _afternoon_, my lady."

"Oh, cruel tiefling. I'm not usually this useless."

"You're not useless," he said, softly.

"I'll try to remember that." For a long, uncertain moment, she gazed up at him, and saw nothing angry, or distrusting. Not giving herself time to think about it, she leaned up on her toes, pulled his head down, and pressed her lips against his cheek. "Thank you."

With her face flaming, she turned away from him, mumbling something about being overly tired, and dived into her room. Inside, she catapulted herself into the bed and kicked her boots off. _Why had she done that? _

_Because his skin was soft and yielding, and he smelled of soap and heat. Because he was looking at me with those blue eyes._ She turned over, burrowed under the pillowsand groaned. _Because I wanted to. _Still mortified, she heaved the sheets up to her chin and wondered if she should have stayed to see his reaction.


	19. Chapter 19

_Disclaimer still applies, etc. My relatives are also returning from their ten-day-ish driving around the countryside absence, which means I'll be playing gracious hostess once more for a while, so apologies in advance since I'm pretty sure my updates will slow down somewhat again. _

_**Chapter Nineteen – Confidences**_

Valen let the temple doors swing closed behind him, and realized that his heartbeat was galloping. He felt flushed and warm, and he recalled the clean smell of Jaiyan's hair when she had leaned in close to him. Her breath had touched his skin first, and he wondered if he should have wrapped his arms around her. _No_, his conscience decided. _Not yet. No matter how much you might have wanted to._

His shoulders prickled. He turned his head, and saw Nathyrra standing idly beside the temple steps, one snowy eyebrow crooked.

"How is our saviour?" the drow woman enquired archly.

"Out cold."

Nathyrra laughed. "Did she try to drink you under the table?"

"No, actually." He smiled, resigned. "Even so, let's just hope the Valsharess doesn't plan a surprise attack for tonight. I don't think I'd be brave enough to go in and wake her up if that happened."

Nathyrra studied him sidelong. "You like her. Don't you?"

"She drives me to maddening distraction."

"You like her. I _thought_ there had to be a heart somewhere under all that armour."

Valen glared at her. "Do you know if the Seer is busy?"

"Oh, he avoids the subject. Typical man." Nathyrra grinned. "No, she's not."

He inclined his head and turned away, stepping back up the polished black steps and into the yawning darkness of the temple. Inside, he discovered the Seer at her writing table, sheaves of parchment unfurled before her.

The Seer turned and smiled warmly, beckoned him closer. "Valen."

He shifted a pile of books off the nearest chair and sat. "How are you tonight, Seer?"

A gentle smile lifted the drow's mouth. "A question best asked of you, I think. How is our recovering ally?"

"She forced me to buy her a hideously expensive drink, then surprised me by only having that one drink," he answered before he could think better of it. "And tomorrow _I_ will have to endure her kobold _singing_ at me."

The Seer's dark eyes sparkled. "Valen, you sound absolutely oppressed. Is her company so terrible?"

He felt his cheeks redden. "No, Seer."

The drow woman smiled, enigmatic as always. She tipped her head on one side. "I thought not. You wish to ask me something?"

He stared down at his hands, laced in his lap. "She is…affecting me."

"I know," the Seer answered softly. "I can see it in your eyes. And it makes you afraid. Why?"

"I'm afraid I'll hurt her." Spoken out loud, the words seemed raw and painfully honest. "I already nearly took her head off once in battle. I have no wish to succeed."

"Your blood." The Seer regarded him through compassionate eyes. "You said not long ago that the compulsions were less. That the call of the Blood Wars was easier to tame, here."

"That's true. But, Seer…" He looked away, mortified. "You know as well as I do how demons can react to…lust."

The Seer did not move, simply watched him calmly. "I do. But you are not the creature you were when Grimash't had you. And even then, your humanity was not entirely dead."

"Just very well hidden," he said sourly.

"Valen. You are not and never have been that kind of man." The Seer's expression turned sad. "Do you still not believe that? Even at the furthest removed from your sanity, you _never_ have given in to lust in the manner of a true demon is capable of."

He shook his head. "I don't think I have. But, Seer…there are so many years in the Abyss that I do not remember properly. What if..?"

"No." She touched his cheek gently. "I will brook no argument, this time, stubborn tiefling. You opened yourself and your mind to me, do you remember?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me when I say I know this about you." The Seer sighed, let her hands lace together on her lap. "Does she know? About Grimash't, and the Blood Wars?"

"Some. She knows I was a battle slave. I told her how he turned me into an animal. How my control…wavers sometimes. I don't think she understands what that means, though."

Her eyes trained on his face, unwavering. "Did you tell her of the torture?"

Valen shifted uncomfortably. "Not really. I gave her the short version."

"If she is to understand you…if you _want_ her to understand you, you will have to tell her." The Seer reached out and brushed a hand across his loose hair. "And you trust her, now?"

"I think so," he answered truthfully. "I am afraid that, once this is all over…"

"Why would she, a surfacer, keep the company of a tiefling?" The Seer raised an elegant white eyebrow. "Why would she welcome your presence? My dear Valen…you know so much and yet you have so much yet to learn."

He scowled, feeling rebuked. "What?"

"She's still a woman." The Seer's smile turned thoughtful. "Stop thinking of her as someone sent to replace you, and see her as a woman instead."

"I never thought…" He stopped and shrugged, resignedly. "I'll try."

"What else is troubling you?"

"I need to know…" His blue eyes were shadowed and pensive. "Do you see what will happen when the Valsharess attacks?"

"You know I don't," she answered in gentle censure. "Not in the way you mean. I see Jaiyan as our saviour…that is all. If you mean to ask me whether she will survive the coming battle…I do not know. I hope…but my visions show me pain, and courage, and an ordeal overcome. Not who will do what with whom, and at what time."

"I thought you'd say that. I am not used to this. The thought that I might be responsible, however indirectly, if she is hurt, or dies…" His voice trailed away, and he stared blankly into his own thoughts.

"You do not fool me for a moment, if you think to convince me that you care nothing for our soldiers here," the Seer murmured. "That you care nothing for Imloth or Nathyrra."

"That's true," he allowed, reluctantly. "But this is…different. The idea that she might die…terrifies me."

The Seer studied him through millpond-calm eyes. "Then you shall have to take care of her. She is precious to me, as well." The hint of a wicked smile curved the drow's lips. "Though in a slightly different way, I imagine."

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Jaiyan pried open sticky eyes and groaned. She dragged herself over to the window, yanked back the curtains and saw nothing but darkness. After briefly assuming that meant it was night-time, she remembered she was in the Underdark. A quick check proved her wound entirely healed, the skin smooth and mended; whatever spell the Seer had used had left barely a mark.

Downstairs, the kitchen was deserted. With narrowed eyes, Jaiyan hunted for bread. She had no idea what hour it was, she realized numbly. She discovered wrapped loaves and made her way to the nearest table.

"You're still alive, I see."

She glared over her shoulder at Nathyrra, who stood elegantly against the doorframe. "Barely."

"So I see." The drow joined her, sat across the table. "How do you feel?"

"A question best not asked. Actually, I feel as if I've slept for six months and woken up with an ogre sitting on my head. Which, given that I had one drink, seems absurd."

Nathyrra poured a cup of water, pushed it across to her. "So, what happened?"

Jaiyan stared into the drow's sparkling eyes. "Meaning?"

"Oh, please." Nathyrra regarded her knowingly. "So what did Imloth mean when he said he saw Valen walking you back to your rooms?"

"Does _everyone_ in this misbegotten city follow me around?" Jaiyan sighed theatrically. "For your information, my friend, I simply felt exhausted. Too much running around beating things over the head and getting injured, apparently. And, before you ask, no, he didn't stay. And yes, I woke up fully clothed."

Nathyrra laughed. "I was hoping for something sordid. I mean, you must have wondered exactly what a talented tiefling could do with his tail, hmm?"

"His…tail? No, not at…" She sighed and nodded. "Well, of course I have. I mean, not that I've known tieflings before. But…" She cringed and plunged ahead anyway. "What _can _they do with their tails?"

"All sorts of things," Nathyrra purred. "Use your imagination."

She did, and almost immediately turned crimson. "Right."

"Not that I've ever had a tiefling," Nathyrra mused. "Maybe one day I'll get around to finding myself one." When Jaiyan's head snapped up quickly, she added, "Oh, not Valen. Don't panic. He wouldn't look twice at me, anyway."

Jaiyan seethed inwardly. "I'm not panicking."

"You were."

_Of course I was. You're beautiful, graceful, and utterly exotic. And I'm…not. _"So," she said, trying to sound casual, "Do you have anyone special?"

"Occasionally." Nathyrra smiled. "At night, mostly. Jaiyan, I'm a drow female with no interest in anything…serious. All that means is I have my pick of some _very_ pretty drow males."

Jaiyan laughed and tried not to feel hideously innocent. "Sounds fun."

"It is. It can be tiring though. There's so _many_ of them." Her smile turned wicked as she leaned across the table. "Do you want to know what happened the night I had three at the same time?"

"Oh, Gods. _No_." Jaiyan buried her head in her hands. "No, I don't."

Nathyrra giggled. "Sorry. I was…what's the word for it? Teasing?"

"Tormenting, more like."

Footsteps rang against the steps, and Deekin skidded into the kitchens, already fully geared up for adventuring. His packs were strapped to his back, and his wings wobbled above. "Boss!"

"Yes, Deekin?"

The kobold almost ran into the table. "Goat-man says it be time to go. He be at the gates already."

She groaned. "Already? I thought I got another night off?"

"Nope." Deekin shook his head. "Goat-man says we have to go. Something about scouts with reports of strange things going on."

"This is the Underdark. There's _always_ something strange going on." She shoved up to her feet, rolled her shoulders. "Alright. Go tell him I'll be there as quickly as humanly possible. And tell him not to start pacing if I'm not there in three heartbeats."

Deekin nodded. "Yes, Boss."

As the kobold turned to bolt back up the stairs, Jaiyan stared at him. At his tunic, his packs, his general appearance. "Deekin?"

Deekin whirled around. "Boss?"

"You bought _red_ boots?"

He stared down at his feet. "Yes..?"

"Should I ask why?"

"Deekin trying to be Red Dragon Disciple, Boss."

She waited for the rest of the explanation, but none seemed to be forthcoming. "Right," she said, eventually.

"Deekin can go now?"

She nodded vaguely, and he hurtled back up the steps, leaving her feeling somewhat dazed. "I didn't even think you'd be able to find red leather here."

"No, we tend to favour black, light black, and dark black," Nathyrra commented wryly. "Maybe Gulhrys dyed it."

Jaiyan nodded, then wondered why she was even trying to find out. "Well, I'd better get my things. Take care of the city while we're gone."

Nathyrra's crimson eyes gleamed knowingly. "Have fun with Valen."

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Once she had buckled her leathers back on, and grumpily wrapped dry cheese and smoked rothe meat, and stolen more bread from the kitchen, Jaiyan made her way briskly to the main gates. Passing the practice fields, she saw Imloth conducting a merciless-sounding archery lesson. She grinned at him, and was rewarded by a quick smile and a wave before he returned to berating his recruits.

At the gates, she found Valen pacing, while Deekin hopped up and down nearby. "What's happened?"

"Scouts came in this morning," he said shortly. "They've come across a settlement that smells of undead and worse."

"So we're the lucky ones who get to go investigate. Did they have any details?"

"Slaves, again." His face twisted. "They were under strict orders not to risk themselves, so they saw little beyond a small township, with a temple."

"A temple. Temples are never good. Right, Deeks?"

"Right, Boss."

A faint smile played at the corners of Valen's mouth. "Do you have everything?"

She nodded. "Ready and willing to strike forth against the endeavours of evil. Or something."

Four hours steady, careful walking took them away from Lith My'athar and deep into low caverns and through twisting ravines. Streams cut channels in the black rocks, and patches of lichen seemed to glow faintly. Tall columns of stone reared up towards unseen ceilings, and Jaiyan found herself wishing Deekin's magelight was brighter, so that she might see more of their surroundings. Occasionally she spied the yawning mouths of caves, or glittering crystals, half-covered with moss. The air here was cool, touched by the slightest movement.

She paused beside a curling, oddly-shaped outcropping, and reached out to touch a crystal cluster.

"What are you doing?"

Valen's voice in her ear startled her. "Just looking," she said defensively.

He eyed the pale crystals. "There's too much light here. Drow patrols could see us too easily."

"Alright, I'm moving." She knew he was right, but the carefree, excitable side of her wanted to stay and see how many crystals she could find, and how many different colours, and how they felt. Feeling slightly dejected, she trailed after him and tried to remind herself how much she did _not_ want to meet another drow patrol.

Another few hours trekking took them through narrow canyons, and past a bubbling waterfall. Tall, almost sheer rock walls rose on both sides, worn smooth by falling water. Down past a severe turn in the canyon, Valen led them around a heap of round boulders, and under a low overhang.

Following him closely, Jaiyan saw that the rock opened out overhead, revealing a long, narrow cave. Deekin's magelight bobbed ahead, spilling over the rough edges of hollowed-out stone.

"I thought we should rest." Valen turned, a little sheepish in the pale light. "I just realized we'd been walking for hours."

"_Nine_ hours," Deekin chirped.

Jaiyan sank down onto the dry stone and groaned. "How do you know that, Deeks?"

"Deekin _knows_."

"Alright, be mysterious."

Valen unslung his packs, dug around until he unearthed a small, wrapped bundle. "We're in deep enough to risk a small fire," he explained. He pushed an armful of broken wood towards Deekin. "Make yourself useful, bard."

Deekin held his hands out, closed his eyes, and muttered a few words. The wood snapped, then flared, wreathed in bright flame.

"You're getting quick with that one, Deeks." Jaiyan smiled and held her fingers over the flame. "Gods. I'm _starving_. And all we have is cheese and rothe. And the first person to say mushrooms dies a miserable and painful death."

"But kobolds eat mushrooms lots, Boss."

"That doesn't make it right." She tipped her head back against the stone and sighed. "Gods, I'd kill for venison right now. Roasted, the way Durnan does it. Or maybe one of the beef-and-ale pies that Drogan used to subsist on. With pumpkin soup as a starter."

Valen gave her an odd look. "Pumpkin soup?"

She nodded dreamily. "You know, orange-yellow colour, creamy, to die for?"

"No…"

Her eyes snapped open. "You've never had pumpkin soup. Do you even know what a pumpkin is? And if not, why not?"

He shrugged, self-deprecating. "I don't think there were pumpkins in Sigil. And there certainly aren't any down here. And on my way here, I don't think I stopped to look for any."

"Hmm. Your loss." She smiled. "So, what wonderful delicacy do we get tonight?"

Valen's red eyebrows met. "If my lady can bear to hold on a moment or so, maybe I can surprise you."

_Only if it's a nice surprise. _"Oh, yes? And what do you have in mind?"

"Wait here." He straightened up, and the firelight lit his hair. "I mean it. Do not leave this cave. Agreed?"

She nodded diligently. "Agreed."

While Valen vanished out into the darkness, Deekin clicked his teeth thoughtfully. "Deekin still not see what be wrong with mushrooms."

"That's because you lived with Tymofarrar." Jaiyan loosened the catches on her leather armour, exhaled slowly. Her sword lay nearby, and Deekin would have spells to the ready, but this strange narrow cave seemed bizarrely _safe _somehow. Despite the knowledge of labyrinthine canyons and unrelenting darkness just outside, she felt curiously relaxed. She stared at the fire, and let her thoughts drift, lulled by the scratching sound of Deekin's quill.

A large shadow slanted into the cave mouth, and Jaiyan jumped. She reached for her sword out of habit, but the firelight touched on green metal, and she saw Valen duck under the overhang. In one hand he carried something shrouded in clean leather. Intrigued, she watched as he knelt beside the fire and loosened the ties, uncovering slices of pale, raw meat. "What is it?"

"Not rothe," he said guardedly.

"It's not drow, is it?"

He laughed. "No, it's not drow. It's some big lizard. Smoked over a fire it's not bad. And it's not cold rothe."

She grinned, liking the slightly abashed look on his face. "I'm overcome. Go ahead and stun me further."

Valen speared the meat on thin pieces of wood and propped them over the flames. While the meat cooked, he rocked back on his heels and unfastened his flail. He laid the huge weapon near the wall, and she eyed the spiked heads on it dubiously. "You didn't kill the big lizard with that, did you?"

"What? No, I do actually have another knife."

"Good. I imagine Devil's Bane would leave little left of a lizard. Aside from what you could scrape up from the ground."

Valen winced. "It was more to do with honouring Devil's Bane as a killer of breathing enemies."

"You are so dramatic sometimes." She eyed the slowly-browning meat. It smelled not unlike chicken, and her stomach growled. "You're not going to produce a platter of mashed potatoes drowned in butter as well, are you?"

His smiled. His eyes were light and laughing as he reached over to turn the meat. "Sadly, no. My lady must forgive me."

"Just this once, tiefling." She watched his face, and was secretly pleased when his smile widened.

"But I did have…I mean, I have something I want to give you." His gaze darted away, fixing on the leaping flames.

_You do? Here, in front of Deekin?_ She stifled such tasteless thoughts and said, softly, "You do? What is it?"

He flipped his pack open again, and withdrew the wrapped length of a longsword. Hesitantly, he passed it across to her. "It's just a sword."

She fumbled the twine, pressed her lips together, and finally tugged the cover away. The scabbard beneath was supple black leather, inlaid with steel and scrolling designs. The hilt above was simple, refined, the pommel adorned with a single polished onyx stone. Still not quite able to look at him, she slipped the blade free, and stared down at it.

The sword was slender and keen, the blade worked with the same looping patterns. It was not quite forged in drow style, not quite that of the surface world, either. The slimness of the blade suggested drow preferences, while the simple hilt and lack of complicated runework and jewels swung more towards a mercenary's practicality.

"Do you like it?"

She turned the blade, let the firelight swim against the metal. "It's beautiful, Valen. You…you really didn't have to."

He shrugged. "Deekin was telling me this morning that the sword you had in Hilltop was stolen. I thought…I thought you might like a new one. One that…might mean something." His eyes flitted, not quite meeting hers. "Rizolvir had a blade almost finished, and I convinced him to not put as much decoration on it as you'd normally find."

She lifted the sword, felt its light, balanced weight. "It's perfect." She looked up, and the quiet, pleased light in his eyes made something in her chest twist. "Thank you."

He smiled, shyly. "I'm glad it pleases you, my lady."

She gazed back at him, and desperately wondered what she could say that would not seem clumsy and ridiculous. _Yes, it does, but not as much as something else would? No, don't even think about it._ "It does, truly."

Valen inclined his head, and switched his gaze back to the fire. He reached out, carefully pried the steaming lizard meat off the wooden skewers, and onto a small metal plate. "Are you still tired?"

"A little. But don't you treat me like some useless damsel in distress."

He laughed. "I would never dare." He held the plate out. "It's hot."

She glared good-naturedly at him and scooped up a scalding chunk of meat. After blowing on it, and tentatively biting into it, she discovered it tender and entirely palatable. "Oh…that _was_ a good idea."

He passed the plate across to Deekin. "Good. So you will allow me to continue nursemaiding you when I tell you that you're getting last watch, then?"

"What?" She paused, a bit of hot lizard meat poised at her lips. Part of her wanted to argue out of principle; why should _she_ get a solid few hours sleep, while they woke and watched the darkness? _But then_, some sly thought suggested, _Why turn down the offer of last watch?_ "Last watch? Valen, I'm completely healed. I'm fine."

"You're also exhausted because of a terrible injury, and we have no idea what we will find at this settlement."

"Undead, according to you this morning."

"You know what I mean."

She looked into his obstinate blue eyes and caved in. "Oh, fine. You win."

"Most gracious, my lady," he said mildly. "I'll take first watch."

Deekin peered over the rim of the plate. "What? Deekin gets horrible second watch?" He snorted quietly to himself and handed the plate across to Jaiyan again. "Hmm. Deekin feels he got raw ends of stick."

"_Wrong_ end of the _stick_, _raw_ end of the _deal_, Deeks."

The little kobold sniffed haughtily. "Well, he did."


	20. Chapter 20

_Apologies for the delay. It's wonderful having houseguests that we only get to see once every year and a half or so, but it's wreaking (very nice) havoc on my social life and hobbies and writing. Anyway, on with the story, and of course the usual disclaimer applies. _

_**Chapter Twenty – Drearing's Deep**_

_A large, dark chamber, all in black stone, whorled with curling metal shapes. Dishes filled with leaping flame hung from the high arches of the ceiling. The air was thick with incense. Drow females in black and red stood to attention at the pillars, and the far end was dominated by a high black dais. Jaiyan looked down and saw her reflection, shimmering in the polished floor. Her hand went to her hip, but her sword was gone. _

_"Still alive, surfacer?"_

_She blinked, and saw that the beautiful drow women stood before her, regarding her through sardonic eyes. She wore an elaborate metal-and-chain get-up that seemed to reveal far more than it covered. "So far," she answered. "So…are you the Valsharess, then?"_

_The drow woman smiled. "What a personal question."_

_"Not really. A personal question would have been, do you have any idea how much of a whore you look in that armour?"_

_The drow's eyes glinted. "Bold surfacer girl. How goes your quest? Do you still stumble blindly through the Underdark, hoping to waylay my allies?"_

_"Absolutely," Jaiyan said, though her heart thundered. "I keep banging into rock outcrops and everything. I just can't get the hang of this no-sunlight concept." _

_"Indeed." The drow's gaze narrowed cruelly. "And what of your vaunted Seer? Have you pledged your heart and soul to her cause? Or does Halaster's geas keep you there?"_

_Coldness prickled up and down her spine. "What?"_

_"You think we do not know? That your loyalty is kept only through the spell that chains you to Lith My'athar and its doomed people?"_

_She shook her head. She wanted to scream at the drow that woman that yes, Halaster had sent her here. Yes, his geas had trapped her. But now – now, things were somewhat different. "You don't know what you're talking about."_

_The drow smiled, showing even white teeth. "This is not your world, surfacer. I can offer you a way back. If you wish it."_

_"I wouldn't accept anything from you if it was wrapped in silk and sounded like diamonds when it rattled."_

_"Ever the mercenary." One silver eyebrow rose. "But what keeps you going now, surfacer? Coin? Jewels? The promise of seeing sunlight again?"_

Something else_, Jaiyan thought, seething. _Something I'm not going to talk about with you_. "Free room and board in Lith My'athar will do fine for now."_

_"Ah," the drow said, quietly. "Something…something scares you. You are…afraid." _

_"No," Jaiyan whispered. "Not afraid."_

_"Oh, yes, surfacer girl. You are."_

Jaiyan woke, her shirt sticky with sweat and her shoulders stiff against an oddly-shaped rock. She groaned and heaved herself up, saw Valen observing her over the embers of the fire. "I think I'm crippled."

"Next time we'll bring a feather pillow."

She grinned, despite the clinging apprehension as she remembered the dream. "Valen…I had another dream. I think…I think the drow woman is the Valsharess."

He went very still. "How do you know? What did she look like?"

"Short, slender, beautiful, crown, dressed in about three bits of metal."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "It's possible."

"She _knew_ things," Jaiyan said bluntly. "She knew about Halaster and the geas."

"What did she say?"

"She…offered me a way back. To the surface."

"_If_ you betray the Seer." He scowled, and she saw his jaw clench. "And what did you say?"

She frowned, not liking his suddenly wary tone. "I shook her hand and asked her which blacksmith designed her outfit. Gods, Valen, what do you _think?_"

His level stare did not waver. "I don't know."

"I said no," she snapped. "No conditions, no buts, no offers. _No_."

The line of his shoulders relaxed a little. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't…I know you wouldn't…"

"No, you didn't." She pushed up to standing, still rattled. "I'm telling you about a dream that might very well be the product of my very confused mind and you assume, _again_, that I'm going to be distrustful and traitorous and leave everyone in the lurch."

"My lady, I…"

"Don't trust anyone. Including me. Particularly me. I know." Simmering, she shucked her pack on, yanked the straps taut. "Come on. We need to get going."

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Jaiyan glared at Valen's broad back as he led through twisting canyons, following a narrow, rock-strewn path that looped alongside a dark, sliding stream. Deekin hopped along beside her, and she could not even bring herself to talk to him. She wrapped a hand around her sword hilt, remembered Valen had given her the blade a scant day before, and glowered some more at him.

_Irritating tiefling._ She understood – at least, some sane part of her understood – that his primary interest still had to be Lith My'athar and the Seer, and the rebel drow, and yet his unbroken look of distrust had stung her to the core.

_I thought…what?_ She shook her head and kept walking, letting her gaze fall on her feet, moving over loose gravel. _I thought maybe he trusted me._

She had done nothing but what the Seer had asked – journeying out into the darkness of the caverns, and discovering the allies of the Valsharess, and removing them, or gaining followers for the rebels.

_And what exactly have you got for your trouble? A new scar and a pretty sword._

"Wait."

She paused inches shy of blundering into Valen. "What is it?" She was aware her tone was brusque, and yet the recollection of the sharp lack of trust in him convinced her not to care.

Apparently not noticing, he nodded up at a smooth rock archway. "The scouts spoke of this."

"What, more stone?"

He flicked a quick glance at her, but did not comment. "No. Look above."

She frowned up at the curve of the rock, and finally saw letters, cut deep. Deekin's magelight floated up, and she read the single word hewn into the stone; _Freedom_.

"Hmm. Now _that's_ not suspicious at all."

"Boss usually see signs like this over caves?"

"Sarcasm, Deeks."

"Oh."

She looked across to Valen again, and something lurched inside her when she realized he was not smiling. "Alright. Shall we find out what kind of doom lies on the other side?"

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A strange outpost of tents and rickety lean-tos, it turned out. Small fires barely breaking the looming darkness. Gnomes and dwarves and even the occasional human surfacer huddled around the thin flames, or else sat hunched beneath half-open tent flaps, gazing out at the gloom with blank eyes. Walking beside Valen as he strode past a stream and a group of three disconsolate dwarves, Jaiyan shivered. She wondered how many more odd places like this were hidden in the Underdark, how many settlements populated only by people with vacant faces and no life left in them.

_What makes them like this?_ _The Underdark itself, or something else?_

"Hello, wayfarers!" Jarringly cheerful, a small, wiry rock gnome bustled up to Valen and saluted genially. "Welcome to Drearing's Deep, home of the almost-free."

Jaiyan stared at the little gnome, unsettled. There was something _not right_ about the desperate gleam in his eyes, or the twisting, snapping movements of his fingers. "The _almost_-free?"

"Yes! Yes, indeed. The almost-free. We abide here, protected and not-quite-free."

Valen grunted. "And who protects you?"

The gnome's gaze skittered nervously. "My name is Cordigan, and I suppose I shall have to ask you why you're here. Is it because you are slaves also?"

The tiefling's tail twitched. "No. We are not slaves."

"No…?" Cordigan shook his head, bemused. "But you must be. Everyone is…we all are. Or, almost are, here. So where were you kept, before this?"

"We weren't kept anywhere," Valen growled. "Who's in charge here?"

"But everyone is kept somewhere." Cordigan blinked slowly. "Where did you escape from?"

"Is there anyone else here?" Jaiyan asked, before Valen could explode. "Anyone else apart from you and the other slaves?"

The little gnome's forehead creased. "There's the temple," he said, tentatively.

"Good. Thank you." Jaiyan grasped Valen's elbow and walked him away from Cordigan, while Deekin skipped along beside her.

They passed what might have been a marketplace, save that the stalls were half-crumbling, and the merchants stared vaguely at the darkness, statue-pale and utterly silent. Wide puddles gleamed in the orange light, and Jaiyan noticed a handful of dwarves sitting with their feet in the murky water, apparently uncaring. Ahead, high rock columns speared up around a flat, torch-light raised area.

A gong stood in the very centre, lit on all sides, and faintly glowing. Jaiyan approached it, aware of watchful, wary glances from a small group of gnomes. She saw deep, jagged letters and sigils carved into it, and the odd shape of the symbols made her skin prickle. "Deeks, do you know what kind of writing this is?"

He tipped his head on one side. "Deekin not sure, Boss. But it look…oh. Boss, it look dragonish."

"Draconic?" She sighed and shook her head. "What in the hells would a dragon be doing down here? It must be…I don't know, something different."

"Nope." Deekin stared hard at the spidery script. "Deekin sure it be dragon writing."

"Deeks, dragons have wings. Huge wings. They fly and tend to like the outdoors and the tops of mountains."

"Old Master like caves," Deekin mumbled stubbornly. "Old Master like deep, dark tunnels with rivers and lots of cows in pens."

A small shape appeared at her other elbow, and she flinched and stared down at Cordigan. "Yes?"

The gnome scuffed his feet against the ground. "If you ring the gong, they come."

Valen fixed him with an implacable stare. "_They?_"

"Master Sodalis," Cordigan whispered.

"Sounds like a charmer." Jaiyan gazed at the gong, unnerved by the way it seemed to hang, to float in the air. The spiky lettering carved deep into it seemed to crawl and writhe in the torchlight. She could feel stares on her shoulders, and knew she would see the strange, vacant-eyed people of this outpost if she turned around again. "Alright," she muttered, suddenly deciding.

"No, wait," Valen snapped.

Before he could reach her, she slammed her fist against the gong. The metal shuddered, and the bell-note it gave sent cold running up her spine.

Valen's hand clamped down on her shoulder, pulling her back. "What were you _thinking?_"

She opened her mouth to round on him, but heavy stone doors on the other side of the shivering gong swung wide. Torchlight flooded out, sharp and yellow. Shadows and footfalls followed, ringing out staccato against the ground. Tall, slim-hipped and imposing in a dark, serpentine way, a man clad in black robes swept towards the gong. Flanking him were four huge figures in armour, all of them balancing axes over broad shoulders.

Jaiyan stared at the new arrivals and swallowed. _Gods. Those four are bigger than Valen._ _Their _axes_ are longer than me._

"The gong has sounded," the tall, slender man hissed. His voice was odd, his accent rolling. "Who stands before me?" His eyes, onyx in a pale face, fixed on Jaiyan. "This one, is it? A human, come down here…interesting. Do you wish to learn of why we are here? Do you wish to be…chosen?"

She bit her lip, wished desperately that his armoured minions were smaller, and summoned a broad smile. "Yes," she said. "I do."

The man arched a black eyebrow. "Good. You have spirit…that is something." He nodded and turned away from her, the hem of his robes whispering across the stone.

"So what exactly does this entail?" she called after him.

He did not turn, and she yelped when a gauntleted hand latched onto her shoulder. On her other side, Valen growled, but she shook her head at him. "No! No…let's just…see."

Valen's eyebrows knotted. "Jaiyan…"

The armoured giant behind her pushed, and she found herself stumbling forward, forcefully propelled towards the towering stone doors. She heard Deekin whimper behind her. The other three figures closed in, silently escorting her, blank behind metal masks. Her feet tangled at the threshold, and the nearest figure hauled her upright and shoved her through the doors.

Inside, she was whisked through narrow stone corridors, up steep stairs, and into a chamber lined with rich tapestries. Blue incense clouded the air, and the floor beneath her boots was softened with plush crimson carpet. Books lined the walls, the spines cracked and faded with age. Ensconced in a chair, gazing over a tray with wine and bread, the tall man eyed her, vaguely amused. "So. You are here."

The doors thumped closed behind her, and she realized her brutish guides had vanished. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes. I'm here."

"Good." Laughter threaded through his voice. He raised a slim, ringed hand and poured two glasses of wine. "Come and sit, and talk. What is your name?"

_No, nothing at all suspicious about trying to charm a girl in a creepy temple. _"Eglantine," she muttered. "My mother liked flowers."

"Indeed." He beckoned to her. "I do not think so. You are not a flower."

_So much for charming._ With her skin tingling uneasily, she sat across from him and gripped her sword hilt. "No?"

"No. You are tenacious and stubborn. You are no delicate bloom. You are less the pale lily or the rich fuchsia and far more the thorned thistle."

"That's a weed." Unaccountably, she felt annoyed. Her gaze rested on the wine, dark and glimmering in the jewel-encrusted goblet.

"Is it? Forgive me. Try the wine."

She reached out, and her fingertips brushed cold metal. _No chance in any hell I'm drinking that._ She lifted the cup and inhaled. "Smells delightful."

"A rare vintage, certainly." He leaned back and steepled his fingers. "What of your companions?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your companions," the pale man said, his voice like silk. "The kobold and the tiefling."

"Waifs and strays. They mean nothing to me."

He must have heard the slight tremor in her words. "Shall we dispense with deception?"

"Oh, I don't know. Deception is an art."

He laughed. "It is, but you are no mistress of it."

Her fingers trembled around the goblet. "You are Master Sodalis, I take it?"

"Yes. No false names from me."

His voice was rich and coaxing, and so very soft. She stared down into the cup, and watched the light swimming in the wine. She gulped down a deep breath, and the incense seemed to sear into her lungs. Her head felt thick and heavy, as if wadded with cotton. "So what happens now?"

"Now…now you will drink the wine."

She found herself raising the cup before some half-forgotten instinct screamed at her. "No," she mumbled. She placed the cup back on the tray. Wine slopped over the rim, scattered on the back of her hands. "I'm not thirsty."

"But you have been chosen," he murmured. "You must."

She blinked slowly. _Well, why not? It's a free glass of wine. Might even taste good_. Her fingers tightened around the stem again, and her gaze dropped to the spilled liquid, ribboning her skin. _Looks like blood_, she thought distractedly.

"Try the wine," Sodalis whispered.

The lush, inviting scent of the wine flooded her head, and she wanted to give in to it. _It would taste like warmth and brighter days and cinnamon and the smell of wood burning in the autumn. Like honey and new flour and baking bread and the laughter of her mother in the kitchen at dawn. _

_Wait._

She dragged down a deep, raking breath.

_Mother never laughed in the kitchen at dawn. _

_Mother hid the empty wine bottles and tried to find enough flour and yeast to make bread. Mother moved quietly so as not to disturb Father. Mother would quietly beckon her in and ask her to please go outside and start digging at cabbages locked in the frozen soil. _

"No!" She flung the cup away, and the wine spilled across the polished tray.

With an angry snarl, Sodalis was on his feet, gliding around the table almost faster than she could follow. She kicked out of the chair and lurched away, tried to yank her sword free. The air swirled around her, and her head reeled.

Sodalis loomed in front of her. One hand locked around her wrist, while the other sank into her throat. He pushed her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall. "So," he hissed. "You do not wish to be _chosen_."

"No," she gasped. "Not really. Sorry to disappoint."

A thin smile pulled at his mouth. "You have little choice, wayfarer. You will be taken, and given, and your blood and bones will be used."

She exhaled sharply, trying to drive the cloying smell of the incense out of her mouth and nose. "Sounds fun. Just what I had in mind when I woke up this morning."

Sodalis' lips curled back, and she flinched as she saw his teeth. "You have come this far," he intoned. "You are the _chosen_." His hand moved, loosening and slipping up to roughly grasp her face.

Jaiyan yanked her sword loose, and drove the pommel into his stomach. He spluttered and doubled over. Following up, she used the flat of the blade to push him away. As he staggered, she flipped the sword around and plunged it hilt-deep in his chest.

He laughed.

Horrified, she jerked the sword out of his body and stared. "Oh. _Gods_."

Sodalis smiled. He looked down pointedly, and she saw no blood staining his robes. "You are the chosen. Come quietly, and you will not be hurt."

"_Yet_," she snapped. "You mean yet." She backed away from him, already scanning the room, desperately trying to see something that could serve as a wooden weapon.

"And where are you going?"

Her back thumped into the door, and she froze. _This room's a lot smaller than I thought_.

Moving like some terrible carrion crow, Sodalis flew at her. She brought her sword up, frantically fending him off. Her blade did him no damage; it scored against his robes and hands and face, and drew no blood. Furious, she tried to push him off her using the flat, and was rewarded with a quick, slashing kick to her ribs. She straightened up, breathing hard, and hating Sodalis' sly smile.

_Take it slow,_ she thought. _Slowly and carefully. Get to those bookshelves. _

Some part of her brain registered footsteps somewhere close by, pounding against stone, and shouts. But then he launched at her again, and she parried madly. She ducked the sweep of his arms and threw herself past him. Her hip bumped the table, and she staggered. Hurled herself to one side again as he came after her. The other wine cup tipped over, and dark red liquid flooded the carpet. She slipped, and half-closed her eyes as she slammed the hilt of her sword against the side of his face. He snarled, and his slight hesitation gave her an inch.

She bolted past him, almost crashing into the bookshelves. Another impossibly quick blow knocked the breath from her lungs and sent her reeling. Sodalis' fingers dug into her neck again, dragging her back against him. His other arm pinned her sword hand, and she felt him breathing against her skin. "Get off me!"

"I do not think so," he murmured. He breathed in deeply, and his lips touched her throat. "You smell…so human."

She thrashed and drove an elbow into his chest. He grunted, but his grip on her did not slacked. His mouth opened, and she felt his tongue run along her skin. She shuddered, closed her eyes, and wondered if all the legends she had heard of vampires were true.

The door crashed open, and Sodalis wrenched away from her. She heard him snap out a shocked explanation before something heavy slapped against him, forcing him to his knees.

She turned in time to see Devil's Bane raking across his chest.

Behind the moving flail, Valen's face was set and pale, chiseled with tightly-reined anger. He spun, and the flail thunked into Sodalis again.

Jaiyan finally found her voice. "He's a vampire!"

Valen snarled and rammed the haft of the flail against the vampire's head, driving him back a pace. He whirled past Sodalis and made it to the bookshelves in three quick strides. With one hand he shoved the books aside.

Sodalis moved to follow, and staggered as a crossbow bolt whipped into his shoulder. He growled and tugged it from his flesh. Another whirred past his head, and a third embedded in his thigh.

Valen spun the flail heads at the shelf, and the wood splintered. Still moving, he grasped a thin spike, batted Sodalis' hands aside, and plunged the makeshift weapon between the vampire's ribs.

Sodalis twisted and shrieked. Jaiyan flinched, unable to look away as the flesh on the vampire's face seemed to _ripple_. His mouth opened, distended. His hands scraped at Valen's breastplate, and his dark eyes widened in the instant before his body crumbled into ash.

Jaiyan blinked, then smiled as she saw Deekin galloping past the tiefling.

"Boss be alright?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Thanks…for rescuing me."

Deekin grinned, all pin-point teeth. "That be alright. Boss rescued Deekin plenty of times."

She looked past the arch of the kobold's wings, and up, to Valen's unreadable expression. Whatever she wanted to say, whatever she thought she might say, died on her lips. "Valen..?"

His pale blue gaze swung onto her. "Yes?"

"Um…thank you. I…may have handled that badly."

He crooked a scarlet eyebrow. "You may?"

She stared at her feet. "Well, we needed to get inside, but…there may have been a better way." She made herself look back up, and saw that something very like the beginnings of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "So…I just wanted to say thank you. For rescuing me as well."

He smiled properly then, and the expression changed his face, lightening his eyes. "My lady, you are most welcome."


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer still going - Bioware owns everything except Jaiyan. Also, updates should speed up again, since we are now guest-less, and I have most of my evenings to myself again. _

_**Chapter Twenty-One – Deeper In**_

Tunnels wound beneath the great temple, descending down from steps near Sodalis' chambers. Past a room dominated by two huge black dragon statues – which made Deekin mutter dire imprecations about what might be lurking beneath the temple – and through another set of stone doors, before the floor dropped away in twisting, turning tunnels. The air down here was close and warm, almost uncomfortably so, and Jaiyan felt sweat beading her skin beneath her clothes.

She matched pace with Valen, while Deekin scurried along in front, a tiny dot of magelight hovering beside his shoulder, throwing juddering light over the curve of the roof above. "What do you think's down here? More vampires?"

"Dragon, Boss."

She scowled. "Underground? Deeks, we've talked about this."

"Dragons _adapt_, Boss. Deekin remembers reading book about Hero of Neverwinter. Big red dragon in that lived in fire giant place, underground."

She rolled her eyes. "And I suppose the Hero of Neverwinter killed it?"

"Yep."

"Single-handedly?"

"After Daelan Red-Tiger was knocked out."

"Typical."

Deekin threw her a reassuring grin. "If there be dragon down here, Boss can kill it."

"Thanks."

Valen glanced down at her. "I thought you _wanted_ to kill a dragon."

"Oh, gods. Not you as well." She strode past them, staring ahead as the ceiling arced up above them, revealing tall columns bracing curving stone. Directly in front of them, the floor dropped away, showing nothing but blank, uninviting darkness. "Hmm. This looks fun."

Cautiously, she padded up to the huge hole and peered down. Warm air moved across her face, curiously rhythmic, and making her think of some huge creature breathing slowly. _Maybe there is something big down there_, she thought uneasily. The encounter with Sodalis had left her wary and prickling; whatever used a vampire as guest-welcomer could not be simple or sweet.

The darkness fled away as Deekin's magelight floated over the hole, uncovering the sharp edges of rock, plunging down into more shadow. And, hanging innocuously, and lashed around a pillar, a rope.

Jaiyan frowned. "Now that's just _too_ helpful."

"You told us Sodalis said you'd been _chosen_ for something."

"Yes." She rubbed one arm reflectively, and recalled the vampire's cool breath on the back of her neck. "Yes. He seemed very enthusiastic about it."

"So they must bring people down here." Valen shrugged. "I don't like it, but I don't think we have much choice."

"Alright." Jaiyan squared her shoulders, checked that her sword was buckled on properly, and eyed the rope. "Let's find out what's down there, then."

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

He hopped up to the edge. "Can Boss maybe speak more…like an epic?"

She laughed. "Sorry. How about…let us strike out into the unending darkness, and discover what terrible fate lies beneath, waiting to slash through the tenuous threads of our trembling, fragile lives?"

Deekin's eyes narrowed. "Boss be making fun of Deekin."

"Not at all." Jaiyan joined him on the brink of the hole, and her stomach lurched. "Oh…that's a long way down."

"My lady does not care for heights?" Valen inquired innocently.

"Not unless she's looking _up_ at them, she doesn't." She crouched down, wrapped a hand around the rope, and shuddered. Not giving herself time to think about it too much, she swung her legs over the edge and dangled for a heart-stopping moment.

"Boss should be careful," Deekin said. "It be _very_ big deep hole."

"Thank you." She waited until her feet settled against the rock. She glanced up at the knot in the rope, and hoped that every god who might be watching would be kindly enough to _not_ let it slip loose. Hand over hand, walking herself down the sheer rock face, she moved carefully down the rope. The shadows closed around her as she edged lower. The rope creaked beneath her hands, and she was horribly aware of the empty space between her and the floor she could not yet see.

Above, Valen's horned head was silhouetted as he watched her. "Are you alright?"

She nodded and switched her gaze to the flat rock in front of her. "Fine," she called up, breathlessly. "Head on down whenever you feel like it. Could do with some light down here."

Far enough down that her shoulders ached with every movement, she noticed the faintest gleam of light from beneath. Tiny, soft pin-points of silver, doing nothing more than teasing the darkness. She twisted her head around and focused instead on the pits and marks on the rock in front of her eyes.

_I'm climbing down a rope into a pit, underground in the Underdark, and Deekin thinks there's dragons down here. Mother would be so proud. _

Her feet brushed solid floor, and she yelped. She glanced up, saw the rope moving as Valen climbed down behind her. He slid down quickly, apparently uncaring of the depth or the darkness. She grinned as she noticed that his tail was wound around the rope beneath him. He landed beside her with easy grace, and Deekin flopped down not long after.

"So are you part monkey along with everything else in that muddled heritage of yours?" she asked archly.

Valen blinked. "Part…monkey?"

"A monkey is a small creature that essentially uses its hands for feet and its feet for hands, and has a tail that wraps around things and helps it climb up trees and things." She frowned. "Now that I've had to explain it, it doesn't seem so amusing."

"Oh." He looked past her, following the light of Deekin's spell. "Jaiyan?"

She heard the warning tone in his voice, and turned in time to see four figures emerging from the shadows. All of them were tall and broad, and their pale, grey faces were sickly somehow, and their eyes burned.

One of them smiled. "Do you come from above?"

_Where the hells else would we have come from?_ "Yes," Jaiyan answered warily.

"Did Master Sodalis send you down?"

"He did." She managed a quick smile. "We had a nice glass of wine and a talk beforehand."

"Ah." The first figure slid closer, and its sunken eyes shone. "So you have been chosen."

"And what does that mean?" Jaiyan grasped her sword hilt.

"You do not know?" The figure paused and glared. "You do not know that you are to be taken to Vix'thra? That he will take your bones, and we will have your blood?"

"What if I want to keep my bones and my blood?"

The figure's lips peeled apart, revealing sharp teeth. "Blood for the Elders."

The other figures loomed behind. "And bones for Vix'thra."

Before she could draw her sword, Valen launched past her. His flail swung out and took off the nearest figure's head. He spun, crashed into the second, driving his elbow into its chest. Jaiyan jolted herself into motion, leaped to his left side, and plunged her sword to the hilt in the third's stomach. She straightened up in time to see Valen smashing his flail into the last one's throat. Blood gushed, thick and oddly dark, as he yanked the weapon free.

Jaiyan stared down at the fallen figures, and her skin turned cold as mist seethed up from torn flesh. Hissing across the floor, the billowing mist crawled along the edges of the stone walls, seeping into small holes and thin cracks.

"Vampires," Valen said, unimpressed.

"Not strong vampires," Deekin commented. "See, Boss? They run and turn into mist."

"That means coffins." Valen shouldered his flail. "Let's get moving."

He was being efficient again, she realized. _Efficient tiefling guide who can hit things very hard_. In order to keep her safe, and by extension, Lith My'athar and the Seer, he would always throw himself at enemies first. She quickly glanced sidelong at him as he marched beside her, gesturing her towards the tall doors that reared up at the far end of the chamber. Was her own overactive imagination playing with her? She had thought…_never mind_.

"Boss?"

She felt Deekin's dry nose touch her wrist. "Sorry, Deeks. Did you say something?"

"Nope." He blinked solemnly up at her. "Is Boss alright?"

She nodded absently. "Fine."

Through the doors, Valen led them into a labyrinthine section of twisting, connected rooms. The walls were running with water, and the air was damp and hot. Clumps of moss and lichen gleamed, and every breath taken tasted wet. Jaiyan shifted uncomfortably. She had grown up in the north, and hot weather – whether dry and harsh, like in Anauroch, or moist and slippery, like down here – made her sweatily angry.

They found a half-blocked-off storeroom, and Valen briskly chopped through the leaning planks. He salvaged a handful of jagged wood spikes while Deekin peered into the storeroom.

"Anything in there, Deeks?"

"Dust."

"Hmm." She had been hoping for gold, or at least weapons, or something shiny that could have made this trip beneath Drearing's Deep worth it. _But no, of course not. Vampires and dust and damp air. _

Further in, past locked stone doors and tall pillars inscribed with strange runes, they followed a line of black steps down into the sweltering darkness. The corridor opened up on both sides, revealing pale candles and long, elegantly carved coffins. With little ceremony, Valen started heaving the nearest huge stone lid off. He leaned in, and Jaiyan heard a shriek and the sound of bubbling flesh as he swept his makeshift stake down.

Some two dozen coffins and too many twisted screams later, Jaiyan trailed him rather dazedly beneath another archway. Their stakes were thick with gore, and the air stank of rotten meat. She knew – _knew _to the core of herself – that vampires were evil, were eerie with their waxen skin and dead, gleaming eyes, and wide-lipped smiles. And yet the way they thrashed, pinned to their coffins, while black blood gushed between their teeth; she shuddered, and tried to force the images from her thoughts.

_Think about something nice instead. Ale. Deekin. A warm taproom. Not the Underdark. _

_Valen smiling._

_No. Stop. He doesn't trust us, remember? _

_Well, how about how his skin felt when you kissed his cheek? _

She shook her head furiously and tried to banish such unhelpful thoughts.

"Jaiyan? Are you even listening to me?"

She flinched, and looked up into the tiefling's pale blue eyes. "Sorry?"

He sighed. "I _said, _do you want to call a halt? Deekin found a room that we can barricade."

She nodded vaguely and cursed the slow blush creeping into her face. "Yes. Sorry."

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Jaiyan sat with her back to the wall and listened to the slow, unending drip of water down the stone. The room proved small and generally inoffensive, but the thick layers of dust made her think of almost-killed vampires, and she wondered if she would sleep at all down here.

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

The little kobold fluttered one wing awkwardly. "Deekin's wings be aching."

"Really?" She leaned forward. "Maybe you should be using them more. To fly, or something."

"Fly..?" He peered over his shoulder at the red arches of his wings. "Deekin not sure. Deekin be heavy."

Valen grunted. "In competition with a grasshopper, perhaps."

"Do we have any of that salve left?" She hooked up her pack, started rummaging. "The one that smells like lavender."

"Deekin likes that one. Smells like flowers."

She dug her hand deeper into her pack and felt her way past wrapped bread and badly-folded clothes. Her fingers brushed something else, and then the cloth inner lining. "Gods, I've got to learn to cram things in here in a more organised manner."

Valen raised a red eyebrow. "Then you wouldn't be cramming things in, would you?"

"Damn your logic." She pouted at him, then upended the pack, and observed as the contents spilled across the stone floor. "Oh. _That's_ where I put that." She leaned down and scooped up a small book, lying next to a swathed bottle. Nearby, she found a small jar, tied closed. "Here, Deeks. Try this on the wings."

She tossed the jar to him and noticed Valen's bemused stare as he gazed at the collection of clothes and weapon oil and bottles and trinkets and junk on the floor. "What? I like to think I travel light."

"Light? Only compared to your kobold, perhaps." Valen pointed at a lump wrapped in greasepaper. "What's that?"

"Oh, even tieflings get attacks of curiosity, hmm?" She hooked up the item in question, and balanced it on her palm as if it was a spider. "I'm not sure, actually."

"There has to be a story behind that. Care to explain?"

Addressed by her own words – _huh, who'd've thought he would've remembered that?_ – she faltered a little. There certainly was a story, but it was strange, rather than exciting, and even slightly embarrassing. "When Heurodis made the city – Undrentide – made it fly, she sealed off the temple where she was. The keys to get in turned out to be three winds, trapped in glass."

"Unusual," Valen remarked flatly.

"Just because you grew up in Sigil doesn't mean you have to make fun of me," she protested. "Floating cities were a pretty big thing back then. Anyway, one of the winds was in a wizard's tower."

"The Dark Wind," Deekin piped up. "The Dark Wind trapped in the Arcanist's Tower."

"Yes. And to get to it, we had to play jumping games with shadow portals and mirrors." She shivered, remembering how the world had seemed drained of colour inside the portals, and through the mirror's blank surface, where they had discovered pale creatures and emptiness that tasted of old dust. Her skin and hair had been bleached white in that odd realm, while her eyes had been gray, Deekin had cheerfully informed her. "In the mage's room, we found…this thing."

Gingerly, she peeled the wrapping aside, revealing an uneven globe. It pulsed, as it always seemed to, and the texture of its surface felt disturbingly flesh-like. She passed it to Valen, and noted with some satisfaction that he frowned. "We were just gathering up anything we could carry for loot, and that came along too. Strange thing is, even when I think I've lost it, it's always there, at the bottom of my bag."

Valen eyed the thing. "Have you ever tried to throw it away?"

"No." She shuddered. "I'm always afraid that if I do, I'll find it in my pack again. And I don't think my nerves could take that."

He turned it over, letting the magelight flood across its almost smooth curves. "It feels…almost alive. Like it's…waiting to breathe."

"Thanks for that. Like I need to be spooked by it any more."

"Does it do anything?"

She cringed. "I knew you were going to ask that. Yes, it did. No, it doesn't, anymore."

"And that means what?"

"Well, on our way back to Waterdeep, we were attacked by bandits."

"Deekin killed six of them," the kobold interjected.

"Yes, you did." Jaiyan threw him a quick smile, but her memory opened up on that half-forgotten day. Rain clouds overhead, the air damp and drizzling, and suddenly filled with shouts and running feet. A crossbow bolt had clipped her shoulder, sent her stumbling, and another had ploughed almost as quickly into her stomach. "The embarrassing part of that was…well, I died."

Valen's tail twitched. "You died."

"Yes." _Oh, stop looking at me like that. It's not _that_ unusual. Adventurers cark it all the time, and sometimes get brought back if they're lucky enough not to be entirely dismembered. _"I remember falling forward with a bolt in my gut, and I woke up in a dark stone room, with someone standing over me."

He had been the Reaper, and she could never remember if he had told her that, or if she had simply decided it. She saw some unreadable emotion flicker over Valen's face as she explained that the Reaper had called her Sojourner, and had pulled her to her feet with cold hands. She had looked down, and seen no crossbow bolts, no blood. After quietly informing her that yes, she had been killed, the Reaper asked if she would care to be returned to her own world, whole and breathing.

"And you were alright?"

"Not a mark on me." She shrugged. "I came to in the same place, and saw that Deeks had killed all the bandits."

Deekin sniffed. "They tried to hurt Boss."

She squeezed his shoulder. "We took the thing…"

"The Relic," Deekin said, a little brighter. "The Relic of the Reaper."

She winced. "Alright. We took the Relic to a wizard when we got to Waterdeep. All he could tell us was that it teleports its user or its owner to a specific place. I guess, the place where the Reaper is."

"And as its owner, does it work only for you?"

"I think so."

"So if you die down here," Valen said quietly, "You'll get teleported away and saved?"

"I don't know." She saw the fierceness in his eyes and squirmed. "Thing is, the wizard told us it had to have been powered by something. He figured a jewel or jewels of some kind. And it turned out we'd…misplaced a couple of rogue stones along the way."

"And Boss _never_ loses rogue stones." Deekin shook his head emphatically. "Rogue stones worth too much."

Valen's hand tightened around the Relic. "You don't have any rogue stones now."

"No." She forced a smile. "And besides, I don't like that thing. It's creepy."

"But it could save you," he said firmly. "We should see if Gulhrys has any." His gaze flicked up, almost accusing. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"What? I didn't think it was necessary."

"Necessary? We might have a way to keep you from death, and it wasn't _necessary?_"

She scowled at him, rattled. "Don't growl at me. Do you know what it's like to be ripped away to somewhere _else_ because of some spooky arcane thing that you know nothing about?"

"Which is a perfectly fair trade, you foolish girl!" Valen exhaled slowly. With deliberate slowness, he pressed the Relic into Deekin's hands. "Don't you understand? The survival of Lith My'athar hangs on _you_ surviving."

"I know that," she snapped. "Me still breathing means your city and your Seer and your rebels live. You've told me enough times."

"We're finding you some rogue stones," he snarled. "And I don't care if I have to tie them to you."

"Valen, don't be an idiot…"

"No, _you_ listen." He leaned forward, blue eyes blazing. "I don't care if you're scared of this thing. You will use it if it means keeping you alive. Do you understand? For the city, for the Seer, and for me. Do you understand?"

She stared into his face, taken aback. "Yes," she muttered, not quite able to think of anything else. "Fine."

"Good." He linked his arms around his shins. "Do you have any other potentially life-saving artifacts on you?"

"No. And anyway, you all neglected to mention the Valsharess has a pet arch-devil, so why should I give you a running inventory of the strange things I carry around?"

"I know, and I'm sorry about that." His lips thinned as he looked away. "That was…not my decision. I would have preferred that you were told everything when you arrived."

She blinked. "Oh. Well…thank you. Nathyrra told me, eventually."

He nodded. His eyes were flickering, not quite meeting hers. "Good. I…should have told you myself."

"No, it's alright." She shrugged, started to gather up her belongings again. "You had enough to worry about. Surfacer, prophecy, grumpy drow, saviour, getting cast to one side, attacking allies of the Valsharess, having to listen to the Doom Song. I understand."

He stared at her for a long, uncertain moment before he smiled, then grinned properly. "Yes." His gaze sharpened as he studied her. "Definitely enough to worry about."

The silence stretched, and Jaiyan shifted. "So…are we going to have dinner down here and pretend that we didn't just spend the afternoon driving small pieces of wood into vampires?"

Much later, she lay on her side, staring into flickering flames. Deekin sat on watch, his wings rustling gently in time with his breathing. On the other side of the fire, Valen slept wrapped in blankets, one side of his face leaning on his crossed forearms. Drifting on the verge of sleep, Jaiyan's gaze lingered on the severe lines and angles of his face, the hollows of his cheeks. She wondered idly if his horns made lying on pillows uncomfortable or risky, and immediately tried to redirect her thoughts.

She remembered the Reaper's tall, shrouded figure, stepping out of swirling mist, and the way his voice had echoed. His hands had felt like polished glass, or stripped bone. The face beneath the folds of his cowl had been blank, unreadable; or simply _not there_. She shivered and turned over, dragging the blankets up to her chin.

_And what had he said, when he had returned the life to her body?_

He had clasped her hand briefly, and his voice had sounded amused, touched with laughter from lips she could not see. She had protested wildly and tried to insist that she would never need to see him again; that she would never be in any kind of debt to him.

_"But, Sojourner,"_ he had said, softly and without malice. _"Of course I will see you again."_


	22. Chapter 22

_Usual disclaimer, and a quick reminder that this story is rated M, since the violence and other stuff will be getting worse (or better, depending how you look at it, I guess) as the plot goes along. _

_**Chapter Twenty-Two – Vix'thra**_

The steps led down, rubbed smooth with age and slippery with water. Dull red light glowed at the foot of the stairs, and Jaiyan gripped her sword as she followed Valen. She did not want to know how deep beneath the temple they were; how many layers of rock trembled overhead. Warm air moved against her face as she stepped under the archway at the bottom, and into an overwhelmingly huge chamber.

She stopped, and stared, and stared some more. Vast stone arches braced the ceiling, carved with odd, swirling shapes. Heat waves shimmered up from a squared-off lake of lava.

_Lava,_ she thought desperately. _Pools of lava down here. How in the hells is the roof still standing with all that swilling around?_

She scrubbed the back of one hand against her forehead and carefully trailed Valen as he strode down the narrowing causeway. On either side, the lava raged, too bright to look at properly. Heat boiled up, blurring the air above and searing down her throat when she tried to breathe too deeply. Stone columns rose from the swirling lava, scorched and black at the base, and she hoped madly that some magic kept them from sizzling and toppling. She rolled her shoulders, grimacing as her shirt pulled away from sweat-sticky skin.

Valen paused beside her. She glanced up at him and noticed that he was not flushed, despite his marble-pale complexion. "How is it you're not cooking inside that armour?"

"I don't feel the heat," he answered absently. "At least, not to the point of discomfort."

"Is that a tiefling thing, or a you thing?"

One side of his mouth creased. "A tiefling thing, I think."

The causeway cut a worryingly close path through the lava. On both sides, the magma bubbled and roiled, and spat heat. Jaiyan peered at it, and shuddered. If the gods ever granted her choice of death, she certainly would never choose burning, she decided. And drowning would come a close second on the never-die-like-that list. _How about a nice, clean sword-thrust? _

_How about we stop thinking like this?_

She shook herself and dragged her gaze from the lava. Up ahead, she saw that the causeway opened out onto a larger stone platform, littered with bones. Huge bones, as if pulled from the carcasses of some vast creatures, standing in sharp silhouette. Some had already been fixed together into roughly human shapes; bone golems, she realized. _Hope they're not already…made alive. Whatever they call it. _

Valen advanced slowly ahead of her, Devil's Bane balanced in one hand. He regarded the leaning bone golems curiously, reached out and touched the nearest. Nothing stirred; the bone creatures merely stood, with sightless sockets turned on the ground.

Stiff-shouldered, Valen stalked past the golems to where a strange, humming contraption stood, ringed by glowing runes. Thin tubes ran from the machine, out through the runes. Inside the circle, tied to the machine, was a woman. Thin, pale, with her long golden hair matted, the woman lay still, her face turned to one side, and her chest barely moving. And beneath her bowed shoulders were wings, charred and scraped and bleeding.

Jaiyan hurried to her side, dropping her sword. She checked the shackles on the woman's wrists and saw that they bore no locks; instead, smooth chains sunk into the thrumming contraption. Very gently, she turned the woman's head. "Are you alright?"

Huge eyes snapped open, white-ringed and afraid. "Free me," the woman whispered frantically. "Please…free me."

Jaiyan stared desperately at the chains on her wrists and ankles. "I'm sorry…there's no locks."

"Please," the winged woman said again. "Please free me. My blood…they're taking my blood."

_The tubes_, Jaiyan realized, revolted. Looking at them again, she saw that they pulsed, thick with blood. "Why?" she asked shakily.

The woman's chin jerked in the direction of the golems. "For them."

Deekin hopped up to the machine. "Pretty lady be a deva, Boss."

The winged woman's wide eyes rolled back to Jaiyan, and she felt something twist in her stomach. "How can we free you?"

"A master," the woman murmured. "A master with the keys. And drow, as well. And be careful…there's something else down here. Something I haven't seen. Something they worship."

After reluctantly leaving the trapped deva, they found their way past the bubbling lava to more corridors, and opulently furnished rooms that turned out to be swarming with drow. After a particularly exhausting skirmish with a third group, Jaiyan mopped blood from her sword and sighed. She was aching all over, her shoulder throbbed, and she had a nice new scrape along the inside of one forearm. "This is getting tedious."

Across the room, Deekin raised the lid on a black chest. "Boss! Come look in here."

"No treasure, I suppose?"

Deekin lifted out handfuls of parchment. "Nope. Deekin find…letters, Deekin thinks."

She joined him and peered down at strange writing, scrawling hurriedly across the scrolls. "What language is that?"

"Drow," Valen answered shortly.

She stared at the interlocking letters and scowled. "Reading drow is not one of my many talents."

Small, clawed hands took the scrolls from her. "Deekin can."

"You can? Why don't I know that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Deekin not think it important."

"What else can you read?"

"Abyss language, dragon speak…oh, elvish, too." He gave another quick shrug, his eyes turned on the scrolls. "This be about powerful drow lady."

"The Valsharess?" Valen asked, his voice low.

"Yep. Says here that powerful drow lady made deal with person with long, long name that Deekin not able to say properly."

Valen's forehead creased. "What else?"

"Says that powerful drow lady expects much vampires and golems to help. And that person here not yet sent enough. So powerful drow lady nasty and threatening to come down here and show them that she's boss. Not Boss boss, just…boss. Of them."

Valen blinked slowly, while Jaiyan bit her lip to hide her smile. "I think I understood that," the tiefling said. "But who's the one in charge?"

"Sodalis," Jaiyan suggested. "He who is now dust."

"No." Valen shook his head. "There's something else. What would vampires worship?"

"An even bigger vampire." She shrugged moodily. "Come on. We need to find this master with the keys."

More traipsing through twisting corridors led to several dead ends and barricaded doors, and finally to a room that looked to be part forge and part torture chamber. There was an anvil, and a fire, and rows of swords and axes on the walls. And a table, with straps, and a cage. And, hiding in the flickering shadows, the master the deva spoke of. Two pummeling sweeps from Devil's Bane sent him staggering back into the wall, and the third ripped his head from his shoulders.

Quietly impressed, Jaiyan nodded. "You move fiendishly quickly sometimes."

Valen shot her a narrow-eyed look. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"What? Oh…fiendish." She giggled. "Sorry. No, it was actually unintentional. Sorry."

He snorted and turned away, but not before she saw him smile. Briskly efficient, he knelt beside the master's bleeding body and searched him. "No keys," he said. "Only this." Found hanging off the dead master's belt, the object he held up was a short metal rod that glowed and hummed with some inner power.

"That be magical," Deekin announced.

"Yes, even I can see that," Valen retorted. "But what does it do?"

Deekin shrugged innocently. "Deekin not know. But Deekin notice that end of rod _very_ similar to hole on machine with pretty deva lady."

For a long moment, Valen stared at the kobold. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"Nope."

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Jaiyan hurried along the causeway again, and felt the same sick twisting inside when she saw the limp, pale deva strapped to the machine. Still, the blood pumped through the tubes, and the pulse at the deva's throat fluttered erratically. She found the notch near the deva's side, and looked at Deekin. "You're sure about this?"

He nodded. "Pretty sure, Boss."

She bit her lip, glanced away from the deva's drained face, and slid the rod into the machine.

For a long, terrible moment, absolutely nothing happened; the machine hummed, and the tubes rippled with blood. Another heartbeat, and the deva's chains snapped apart. The machine groaned beneath her, and the tubes trembled.

Shakily, the deva tried to sit up, and swayed. Jaiyan caught her shoulder and steadied her. "How do you feel?"

The deva blinked huge, nervous eyes. "Better. Thank you…for doing that."

Jaiyan shrugged uncomfortably. "You're welcome. What were you doing down here?"

The deva's expression clouded over. "I…don't know. I can't remember. I know…I had to do something. Something important…" She shook her head. "I don't know where this is. I don't know where I _am_."

"You're in the Underdark," Jaiyan said softly. "I'm sorry, I wish…" She looked at the deva's tattered wings and exhausted frame, and anger bloomed up in her. Anger at the vampires who had done this, had chained this frail, pretty creature to a machine designed to drain her blood to give life to bone constructs. "Look, if you find your way to a city called Lith My'athar, you'll be given shelter. Until you…until you recover enough to find your way home."

The deva blinked slowly. Her hands clutched at her own arms, running over bruised skin and ripped clothes. "Lith My'athar?"

"Yes," Valen said quietly. "It's not safe, but nothing is, down here. You'll have food and healing if you go there."

While the tiefling sketched out a map, and wrote a handful of directions, Jaiyan tried not to look at the machine. Devoid of power now, the thing stood silent and still, an ugly hulk splashed with blood and sweat. She wondered how many people had been tied to it, and drained until they died.

The deva's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "What will you do now?"

"Keep going," she answered. "Find out what's down here. There's nothing else we can do."

The deva's eyes shimmered wetly. "They speak of something called Vix'thra."

Jaiyan nodded, remembering the vampires in the pit; _Blood for the Elders. Bones for Vix'thra. _"Yes. Good luck. I hope you make it to Lith My'athar."

She watched as the deva walked back along the causeway, heading for the steps, and the temple above. Her ragged wings arched out over her spine, almost brushing the floor behind her. Her long, unbound blonde hair tumbled over thin shoulders, lank with blood and dirt.

"Are you alright?" Valen's voice behind her was rough.

"Yes." She blinked rapidly. "I just…I want to get out of here."

His hand pressed briefly against her shoulder. "I know."

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Valen led, cautiously retracing their steps back through the warren of corridors. Jaiyan stared down at the floor and wondered if the lava boiled beneath. _It's certainly warm enough_, she thought grumpily. Sweat ribboned her temples, and her hair was damp. _How about we worry about something important,_ her mind informed her. _Like how your hand's going to slip on your sword hilt if you keep sweating. _

The passageway curved around, and she could see the beginnings of a high archway. Halfway through wondering exactly how deep these tunnels could possibly go, she turned the corner properly, and saw Sodalis, standing before the archway.

"Oh, no. No, no." Suddenly seething, she glared at him. "What in the _Nine Hells _are _you _doing here? You're supposed to be dead!"

He smiled, all pointed teeth and gleaming eyes. "You did not truly think you killed me, did you?"

She was aware of Valen circling out on her right side, and Deekin loading his crossbow on her left. "You know, I really hoped we had."

Sodalis spread his hands, and magic crackled between his fingers. "Your blood will be kept for the Elders…for us. Your bones will go to Vix'thra."

"So you keep saying. Very dramatic." She hefted her sword. "So who is Vix'thra? Is he like you?"

Sodalis scowled. "You cannot pretend to understand. _You_ would not know, would not _comprehend_ what it is that we are doing down here."

"I _know_ what it is you're doing down here," she snapped. "You're bringing people down and strapping them to that machine and draining them. And I suppose when you have enough blood for your golems, you just drink whatever's left."

"Foolish girl." He stepped forward. "You really do not understand."

Fire cracked from the vampire's palms. Jaiyan flung herself away, and saw Valen charge into the space she had left. Devil's Bane whined up and around, and she expected to see the vampire's head caving in.

Instead, Sodalis dodged, seeming to somehow _melt _away.

Moving like smoke, the vampire eeled around Valen, and Jaiyan found herself staring up into his pale, narrow face again. She slashed out wildly, and gritted her teeth when her sword sliced through his robes and drew no blood. She scrabbled for the stake at her belt, and gasped when he struck her in the face, knocking her back two paces.

A crossbow bolt sprouted from Sodalis' shoulder, and he grunted. Ignoring it, he pushed forward again. Two more slammed into his chest, and he growled furiously. He wrenched one of them out, threw it away.

Devil's Bane thumped into his back, driving him forward. He snarled and rounded on Valen. Magic crackled from his hands, sizzling across the tiefling's armour. Not stopping, Valen bulled forward and brought the haft of his flail smashing down against the side of the vampire's face. Sodalis hissed and slithered away, slipping between Valen's hands like oil.

Deekin fired again, and a bolt lodged just above the vampire's hip. Sodalis staggered, and his lips peeled back, revealing sharp white teeth. Valen launched after him, dropping his flail and wrapping his arms around the vampire's slim body. He wrestled Sodalis off his feet, somehow kept his grip tight even as the vampire thrashed and kicked. Sodalis' head twisted around as he tried to snap his teeth at the tiefling's throat.

Valen pitched forward, carrying Sodalis to the floor with him. He trapped the back of the vampire's knees with his own, and locked one arm around Sodalis' neck. The vampire writhed beneath him, tried in vain to buck him off. He dragged the vampire's head back, found his stake with his other hand, and plunged it into the vampire's chest.

Sodalis screamed. His mouth distended for a long, horrible moment, and his eyes rolled back.

Valen wrenched the stake out, and Sodalis collapsed, exploding into grey ash.

Jaiyan sheathed her sword, watching with a wry smile as Valen straightened up. His peeved expression as he saw that the pale dust had coated his breastplate made her grin. "Do we need to stop so you can polish your armour, my tiefling?"

His frown gave way. "It's _filthy_."

"It's not too bad." She brushed off a handful of dust and contemplated writing letters across the dark green metal.

Valen retrieved his flail, stepped carefully around the pile of ash that had been Sodalis. He gestured to the bruise that mapped one of her cheekbones. "You're not hurt?"

She shrugged. "I'll live, I promise."

There was nowhere to stop and rest here, she knew; they had to continue on, venture underneath the archway, and discover what lay beyond. But the side of her head throbbed, and she was tired, and she suddenly did not want to find out who or what Vix'thra was.

_There's nothing for it,_ she told herself firmly. _The sooner you go through that archway, the sooner you get to go home. _She frowned, a little surprised at her own thoughts. _Back to Lith My'athar, I mean. That's all I mean._

She settled the weight of her pack on her shoulders, and followed Valen again, with Deekin flanking her. The little kobold paused and leaned down to scoop up the crossbow bolts that had transfixed Sodalis. He studiously dusted them off, and slid them back into his quiver.

The shadow of the archway swooped over them, and the stench of rotting meat and old dust and ancient stone stole away all thought. The high rock walls unraveled before them, arching up into musty darkness. The ground was uneven with loose gravel, and the air itself seemed somehow hazy, as if moving in rhythm with some hidden current.

_Something breathing_, Jaiyan thought uneasily.

She looked up, and saw pale torches hanging from the rock, throwing dancing shadows. Not far away, a stone altar stood, its sides black with crusted blood. She wondered how many people had been brought down here, and what they thought as they were led beneath the archway, and up to that altar.

_And what had seen them die?_

The ground trembled.

Her grip tightened on her sword; beside her, Valen's tail lashed, and Deekin cranked his crossbow.

She looked around wildly, could see nothing but the murky air and flickering torches. _Where the hells are you? _What_ the hells are you?_

The ground shook, again and again, as if something huge approached. A low, angry-sounding roar broke through the stillness, along with the scraping of something large against the stone. She stared desperately through the cloudy, treacherous air, and her heart double-timed in her chest.

_What is that? _

Moving slowly, deliberately, something _very_ big stalked out of the shadows. Torchlight rippled across the sharp edges of exposed bones and the high ridges of pointed spikes. Fierce, frightening green eyes rolled and burned in open sockets, and curving, jagged teeth sprouted between wide jaws. Above huge shoulders, the narrow bone arches of wings were bare, the thinner tendrils of what would once have held leathery membranes fanning out beneath.

"Deekin was right, Boss," the little kobold chirped happily. "That be dragon. Dragon who lives underground."

Jaiyan stared at the skeletal monstrosity and swallowed. Her throat felt packed in sand. "That looks like no dragon I've ever heard of." A laugh threatened to bubble up in her mouth. "Where's its skin?"

"_Boss_," Deekin said, reprimanding. "That because this is _dracolich_."

"Dracolich," she repeated. _Part dragon, part lich. Dracolich. Lovely. _"I want to go home."

Beside her, Valen's shoulders were rigid, and Devil's Bane swung from his hand. "Stay behind me," he growled.

"And let you get pounded into the ground by that thing?"

"No arguments," he said. "Don't even _start_."

"But…"

"_No_," he hissed. "You are staying behind me."

The towering dragon – dracolich, she reminded herself – was moving again, crossing the vastness of the cavern, its skeletal tail dragging behind it. _It shouldn't be able to move,_ she thought madly. _It should all fall apart or something. _

"Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"How do you kill a dracolich?"

Deekin sighted on the monster's head as it ponderously approached. "It just be lizard lich, Boss. Must have phylactery somewhere."

"Fine," Valen barked, brooking no complaint. "You go after the phylactery. We stay here and hold him off."

Jaiyan stared at the monster, at its bleached bones and gaping jaws. At the way its wings shifted and moved, and its claws dug gouges in the ground. "What? Me?"

Valen swung his flail. "I want you to run. Around it, behind it, whatever you need to do. Do not stop until you find that phylactery."

She gripped her sword, realized her fingers were slippery with fear-sweat. "What are you going to do?"

The monster's jaws dropped open, and flames roared through its teeth.

"What I know how to do. Now go. Get out of here."

She wanted to stay and argue, to tell him that he should not have to face such a creature alone, with only a kobold bard at his back, but he pushed her, and she found herself stumbling. She pulled upright, and ran, relying on nothing more than instinct as the dracolich's shadow covered her. Desperately trying not to look at it, as its huge head swiveled, and its jaws opened again, she bolted.

She skidded against loose stone and kept moving, darting past the dracolich, and biting her lip as its heavy gaze fixed briefly on her. She heard its bones grating together as its wings spread out, and then she was running faster, pelting past it, and heading for the shadows beyond.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter Twenty-three – The Lair**_

Jaiyan hurled herself past ragged rock outcrops, staring frantically ahead, trying to see anything but the rough stone walls. Behind, she heard the roar and rush of heated air as the dracolich attacked. Magic shrieked, and there was the thudding sound of something solid hitting bone. Another howl from the dracolich, and she almost turned to see if Valen and Deekin were alright.

_What do we mean, alright? How about settling for alive?_

She gritted her teeth and ran faster, ignoring her aching muscles. The rocks folded in just up ahead, and she followed them. She found herself sprinting down a narrow canyon with the rock outcrops curving in overhead. She skidded around a corner and halted, arrested by the sudden gleam of gold.

_Gold. Everywhere. Coins. Jewels. More coins. Chests. Weapons_.

She was staring at the dracolich's hoard, she realized. Treasure brought down here by the vampires, stripped from their victims, and piled up here, for Vix'thra.

There was more coin here than she had ever _dreamed_ of, never mind seen.

Forcing herself to keep moving, she loped past the glittering hoard and rounded another corner. Towards an alcove, carved deep into the rock, and smoothed over. The stone here shimmered with tiny gems, and the light reflected on them and the elegant, small jar propped in the alcove.

She gazed at the phylactery and swallowed hard. It looked _odd_, _wrong_. Swirling patterns chased each other along its delicate surface, and it seemed to ripple with waiting power. _What if it's trapped? What if it's a trick?_

Somewhere nearby, Vix'thra screeched, and claws scraped against metal.

_Valen. _

She shoved back welling fear and picked up the phylactery. It felt cool and too light, throbbing beneath her fingers. She held it up, and saw that its porcelain sides were almost translucent, and that _something_ writhed inside it.

Appalled, she threw it to the ground. The phylactery erupted into shards and something that hissed into nothing.

And Vix'thra cried out.

A shriek of thwarted rage, ripped from a throat with no flesh.

Cold sweat broke out along Jaiyan's forehead. She would have go back out there, and help. Have to go and help face off against a dragon. A dragon made of bones.

_Can't we just stay here and hope for the best?_

She drew her sword and stared for a long heartbeat at her reflection, swimming in the blade.

_No. And you know damn well why. _

Not giving herself time to reconsider, or even think, she took off again, hurtling back down the ravine, and out into the vast cavern. She saw Valen first, driving off two lurching bone golems.

_Oh, no, not fair_._ As if we don't have enough to think about right now.  
_

Vix'thra itself loomed behind, watching through burning, shrewd eyes as the tiefling yanked his flail through the spine of one of the golems.

The dracolich was waiting, she realized. Waiting for the perfect time to cut down the distracted tiefling.

_No,_ she thought fiercely. _No dracolich gets to do that to my tiefling._

She had no plan, no strategy; just the blind hope that she could get there in time, and do _something. _She tore past the rock outcroppings, and between the golems and the dracolich. She ignored Valen's shocked glare, prayed that he would keep his focus on the golems, and slid to an ungainly stop in front of the monstrous dracolich.

Up close, Vix'thra was frighteningly huge, and smelled of old tombs and mildew. The bigger teeth protruding from its mouth were longer than her forearm. Her throat was painfully dry, and her free hand shook violently. She remembered Drogan, trying to calm her down that night she had run into a small orc patrol alone.

"_Fear takes the best of us," he said, his mask of brusque discipline cracking slightly. "Don't try to ignore the fear. Don't try to unfeel the fear. Accept it, take it, and use it."_

But this was different. This was not stumbling upon six ill-trained, poorly-organised orcs in a forest somewhere. This was not striking bargains with white dragons, or striking out into the damp warmth of stinger nests. This was not even venturing up a tower that trembled as if it wanted to tear itself apart, while the city it was part of wrenched away from the desert plain below.

_Tymora help me_, she thought desperately. _Because I don't think anyone else will be stupid enough to._

The dracolich towered above her, imposing and rotting all at once. Moss and bits of flesh and skin clung to its jaws. The eye-sockets burned green, and the jaws dropped open again. Jaiyan threw herself madly to one side, biting her lip as the flames came roaring down behind her.

_This is absurd,_ some less-petrified part of her mind decided. _Absurd to the point where whoever decided we should come to Drearing's Deep should be killed. Slowly. _

Valen was distracted with the last of the shambling bone creatures, and Deekin was trying to press himself against a boulder in terror.

And she stood trying to dodge the flames and breath of the ugly, huge dracolich, with only a slim-bladed longsword and her wits. _How do you stab something that has no skin, no flesh?_

True, the phylactery was crushed, and Vix'thra's soul along with it, in broken shards on the ground. But even so, how was she meant to launch an assault on a skinless, bloodless monster that stood over twenty feet tall?

The sharp sound of Devil's Bane smacking into the bone creature's skull jolted her thoughts. She pushed on, still running, as Vix'thra lumbered round to follow her. "Valen? Help over here!"

He turned amid a shower of broken bone pieces. He hefted the flail and launched across the cave floor towards her. Devil's Bane whirred through the air, the heavy head blurring.

"Deekin?" She looked around wildly, saw the kobold still huddled up beside his rock. "Deekin, can you help?"

"Deekin doesn't want to, Boss," he whimpered, eyes closed.

"Just spells," she called back. "Just stop that thing from touching our minds, alright?"

Deekin opened one eye and nodded.

On her other side, Valen threw himself in front of the dracolich's darting head. He stood his ground, and swung the flail. The weapon crashed into Vix'thra's broad snout, and the creature howled. Flame poured from the white jaws, and Valen leaped to one side.

Jaiyan found herself laughing breathlessly. "I don't think he liked that!"

Valen grinned bleakly at her. He was still right underneath the monster's questing head. He arced the flail up, and its twin heads smashed into the underside of the creature's mouth. Vix'thra's neck snapped up, arching, and it roared.

Another downward lunge of the vast, snapping head; Valen sidestepped and brought the flail thundering into the side of the dracolich's jaws. Bone splintered under the force of the blow, and the monster howled. The claws gouged into the cave floor as the dracolich backstepped.

Jaiyan approached cautiously, not entirely sure how she could help.

Vix'thra jerked its head down again, moving like a great, ungainly bird trying to feed. Valen braced, legs apart, and lashed out, directly up. The flail crashed through the monster's teeth, sending jagged bits of bone flying. Still circling, Jaiyan watched. She flinched as a wobbly-looking fireball arced over her head and thumped into the dracolich's shoulder blade. She glanced back, saw that Deekin was clinging to the boulder in petrified determination. Between his shaking claws, a new spell blurred and sparkled.

Vix'thra bulled forward, and Valen leaped back. The dracolich swiped out with huge, curved claws. Valen dodged, brought his flail up too late. The monster's head came swooping down, slamming into him, knocking him off his feet.

He went over on his back, still gripping the flail. He flipped over, dragged the flail up, swinging wildly at the monster's plunging jaws. He twisted away from the snapping, broken teeth, struggled halfway to his feet.

Jaiyan pushed into a run, suddenly afraid as the dracolich brushed him over again, a cat playing with a new toy. The monster's jaws punched against his breastplate, and the flail spun out of his hands. "Valen!"

Valen thrashed and reached madly for his weapon. He wrapped a hand around it, twisted back over.

And the dracolich stabbed down with one hook-clawed foot.

One huge claw sank into the join between the tiefling's breastplate and his leathers, angling up under the armour. He stiffened, and Jaiyan saw the sudden, shocked pain in his eyes.

Vix'thra slowly slid the claw free. She saw Valen's teeth clench, but he did not cry out. Blood leaked from beneath the dark green armour, slick on the stone floor.

Valen snarled and heaved the flail up, sending the spined head into Vix'thra's mouth. He yanked hard on the haft, and the dracolich howled. The sound of splitting bone followed, and the thump of the monster's tail slapping against the cave wall.

Jaiyan closed the last of the distance as the flail tumbled out of the dracolich's ruined jaws. The monster was faltering, the green eyes confused, the claws cutting into the floor. Another fireball spun overhead, exploded against the side of the monster's ribs.

"Valen?" Ignoring the wavering, shuddering dracolich, she dropped to her knees beside him. "Valen?"

He was prone, dead-white and breathing fast. He turned his head, smiled faintly. "Pick up my flail."

"What? Look, I'm getting you out of here…"

"Kill it first," he whispered. "Pick up my flail. Prove that it's not too heavy for your delicate hands."

She glared down at him. "I hate you, tiefling."

His pale smile did not change. She leaned round him, closed both hands over the broad haft. She stood and dragged the flail up with her. It felt awkward and unwieldy, as likely to damage her as the weaving dracolich.

A green-tinted acid spell roared overhead and splashed against the monster's head. Vix'thra snorted through broken nostrils and tried to blink the acid away. She saw the monster's great skull lunging down for her, and she heaved the flail round over her head. Then she snapped her eyes shut and prayed to every god she could name.

The chain snapped tight, and the heads smashed upwards, into the ruins of Vix'thra's jaws. Punching up and through the skull cavity.

The shock of the impact wrenched the haft from her hands. She stumbled away, saw the flail spin out wide.

The dracolich rolled furious eyes. A shudder unreeled through the ancient skeleton. The monster tried to growl through shattered bones. The huge claws tightened once against the stone floor, digging in; and the dracolich toppled over, smashing and clattering, coming apart as the last whispers of life left the bones.

Jaiyan felt herself shaking uncontrollably. She turned, collapsed to her knees again. "Valen?"

He had not moved. His blue eyes flickered, searching her face. "You did it."

"Where are the healing potions?" Not listening to him, she unslung her pack, started rifling desperately through the contents. "Deekin! Where are the potions?"

"Deekin gots some, Boss," the little kobold answered. He leaped down off his boulder, galloped across towards them.

"Valen?" She glanced back at him, saw that his eyes were distant, fixed on some point behind her head. "Valen, listen. You have to stay with me. I don't know how many potions we have."

His eyes jumped, blearily focused on her. "Stay?"

His voice was hollow and strange. "Oh, gods, don't do this to me." She looked beside him, saw the spreading dark blood. With shaking hands, she unbuckled his armour. More blood gushed as she tried to maneuver his breastplate off. He shuddered, and the pain wrenched a cry from him. "I'm sorry, I have to take it off…"

She lifted the breastplate and sucked in a sharp breath. He looked as if he had been skewered with a pole. She kicked the breastplate away and peeled the blood-soaked underpadding and shirt up. His skin beneath was chalky, streaked red.

Jaiyan turned, found spare clothes in her pack. Threw them at Deekin as he trotted up to her. "Hold these over the wound. Press hard." She snatched Deekin's pack off him, searched through the contents.

The kobold laid a folded tunic over the gaping injury. "Goat-man hurt bad?"

"Very bad."

"Is Boss alright?"

She glanced up, saw Deekin watching her with concern written into each leathery wrinkle on his face. "I'll be alright. Keep holding that there, yes?" She closed a shaking hand around a healing potion. "Valen, are you with me?"

She saw his throat move as he swallowed painfully. This close to him, she could see the sweat-spiked eyelashes, the ashen pallor, the ragged flutter of pulse at his throat. She slid an arm under his neck, propped his head up. "I need you to drink this for me."

She tilted the bottle, dripped the liquid into his mouth. Most of it ribboned his chin, damped his collar. "Damn you, tiefling. You _will_ drink this…"

She tried again, and still the blue mixture spilled down the front of his shirt. Her throat felt too tight; blood pounded in her head. "Valen, please…"

She balanced his head in his crook of one arm, held his mouth open. She tipped the potion into his mouth, then sealed his lips with one hand and covered his nose with the other. He convulsed; but she saw his throat move as he swallowed. "Alright. That's good," she murmured. "Come on. Let's do that again."

Carefully, she poured the last half of the bottle between his teeth, pausing between mouthfuls to ensure he kept it all down. Three slow bottles later, she studied his face again. His skin still looked like wet paper, but his breathing seemed easier.

She trusted herself enough to turn away long enough to find a spare cloak and fold it into a pillow. "Alright. Let's have a look at him."

Deekin raised his narrow head. "Blood be less now, Boss, Deekin thinks."

"Good." She moved, took his place. Gently lifted the sodden tunic up and winced again. The blood had slowed, was congealing around the raw edges of the wound; the healing potions were beginning to work.

"Goat-man get speared all the way through?"

Jaiyan laughed despite her anxiety. "Maybe we'll ask him when he feels better." She rummaged through her pack again, found a shirt she planned to sacrifice for bandages.

"We be staying here tonight?"

"We should," Jaiyan answered tiredly. "It's a ways back to the surface, and I really don't think we should move him. Let alone try to carry him."

Deekin nodded solemnly. "Deekin finds wood for fire, then."

Jaiyan smiled as she watched the kobold scavenge around for wood among the scattered old bones. With a sigh, she glanced back down at Valen. His large hands were slack on the ground, half-curled, so frighteningly lifeless. Even before, when he had been hurt, he had always been angry; this motionless, exhausted silence terrified her.

She busied herself slicing the shirt into strips. She folded the cloth over, pressed it against the ugly injury. Carefully, she tied the remainder of the fabric around him, holding the bandage in place. She tilted him to one side, heaving against his unconscious weight. When she rocked back on her heels to check him again, she saw that he was still out cold.

Jaiyan reached out, thoughtfully smoothed scarlet strands of hair back from his forehead. She knew basic healing techniques, but she was no physician; she wondered what else she should do. To occupy herself, she slit the blood-soaked shirt open and gently slipped it over his broad shoulders. On any other day, she would pause and admire the lines of his muscles, even allow herself a good, long stare. But now, staring at the blood that streamered his pale skin, she barely noticed. She found a clean rag, usually pressed into service to polish her sword, and soaked it in water. She wiped the blood away, mopped the dirt from his flesh.

Deekin reappeared, laden down with sticks and bits of wood; broken off edges of shields, halves of old lances. He dumped his find down and excitedly chanted his fire into life. "Goat-man still asleep?"

Jaiyan nodded. She did not take her eyes from Valen's still face. "Yes. Thanks for the fire, Deekin."

Deekin bobbed his head, embarrassed. "Deekin wants Boss to be alright."

She nodded absently. Very carefully, trying not to jolt the wound, she lifted Valen by one shoulder. "Well, he didn't get speared all the way through. And it's clean. That has to be a good sign."

She studied the muscled shape of his back, suddenly startled; from the base of his ribcage all the way up to the slope of his shoulderblades, he was scarred.

Whip-marks, most of them, she realized; regular, and faded now, but cross-hatching him from hips to shoulders. And below those, older scars, darker and deeper. She saw what looked like the leaf-bladed tip of a spear near his shoulderblade. A triangular scar of the kind usually left by arrowheads, just above his hip.

"Gods, Valen," she murmured. "Who did this to you? And why did you let them?"

She blinked back a sudden, hot rush of tears. She turned away from him, pushed her knuckles into her eyes.

"Boss?" Deekin's cold, scaly fingers touched her arm.

She swallowed. "I'm fine. You get some sleep first. We could be here a while."

While the little kobold slept, curled in his blankets with his lute, Jaiyan sat with her arms wrapped around her shins. She studied Valen's sharp profile, fixedly stared at the pulse at his throat. She reached out, lifted his hand into hers. Tentatively, she explored the shape of his fingers, felt the calluses and strength left by years of carrying weapons.

Her spine prickled; something had changed.

She looked up, saw him gazing back at her through pain-blurred eyes. "Valen?"

"Why am I half-naked?" he murmured.

She laid his hand back down. "So I could have my evil way with you, obviously. Sadly you woke up before I could get very far." She searched his face, saw the flicker of a smile on his lips. "Do you remember? The dracolich?"

"Ah, yes. How embarrassing." His eyes closed again. "And you killed it?"

"I taught it the error of trying to stab all the way through people I like," she muttered. "Here, drink this." She pushed another healing potion into his hands.

He blinked and grimaced. "Smells awful."

"This is my revenge. Drink it."

He complied slowly. His blue eyes lifted to hers again, pensive. "My lady, I…" His face creased with pain. "I…you could have been killed. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For making a mistake."

She stared at him. "You're really stupid sometimes, you know that?" She shook her head. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"But the dracolich…"

"Had pinned you to the floor like a butterfly." She swallowed past the sudden thickness in her throat. "I thought…well, never mind what I thought. I just want you to be alright."

A slight frown lined his forehead. "You are unhurt?"

"A few bruises. Too much terror. Oh, and I almost forgot. Vix'thra had the _biggest_ hoard. We have to go and scoop up as much as we can carry before we leave."

Valen smiled wanly. "Did you find any pretty jewels?"

"Pretty or ugly, I can sell them all." Her smile faded as she saw the pain in his eyes. "Do you need more potions?"

"No. Not yet. Let the others work first." He shifted, tried to lift himself up onto his elbows. A groan escaped his mouth. "Oh, I haven't felt this bad for a while."

She arranged blankets behind him, waited while he carefully leaned forward. He was pale – paler than usual, in any case – and his eyes seemed shadowed. "Valen," she said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Captive audience," he muttered. "Fire away."

She stared down at her hands. She had seen Vix'thra's claw sliding _into_ him, and the sudden fear that he might die had turned her thoughts blank. Now, in the exhausted, shaky aftermath, she found she wanted to talk, to ask him anything that sprang to mind, if only to remind herself that he was real and breathing. "When I bandaged you, I saw…you've got a lot of scars."

"Yes."

"Where did they come from?"

"Battles, some of them." His gaze leveled at her. "But you're not asking about those, are you?"

"No."

He sank back against the blankets, and she saw his lips press together when he jarred the wound. "When Grimash't tortured me, his favourite method was a good old-fashioned flogging. With whips that had metal tips. Guaranteed to leave a man's skin hanging off his back."

She wanted to take his hand again, to reassure him, but that inescapable distance was in his voice again, and his eyes were drifting. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." A strange, dreamy smile twisted his mouth. "Though I suppose it makes me…what's the opposite of handsome? Unhandsome? At least from the back."

"Alright, time for you to go to sleep." She pressed another healing potion into his hands. "You're starting to say silly things, and I don't want to be the one to have to tell you tomorrow how much you embarrassed yourself."

He stared at the bottle absently. "Will you stay?"

She pulled the cork out and tipped it up against his mouth. "Yes," she said. "I'll be here on watch."

"Oh. Good." He drained the bottle. "Will you come back to Lith My'athar with me?"

There was a strange, frantic note in his voice. _That's just the pain and the healing potions talking,_ she thought firmly. Very gently, she squeezed the back of his hand. "Of course I will."

While he slipped into exhausted sleep, she rocked back on her heels and watched him breathe. The pulse at his throat was steadier now, and a quick check of his bandages revealed that the wound was closing over nicely. _Hmm. Perhaps tieflings heal fast._

His eyes moved beneath closed, blue-veined lids, and she wondered what he might be dreaming. Her gaze moved up, past his red eyelashes, to his brows, and then to his hair, and finally his horns.

_He's part-demon,_ she remembered ruefully. And yet, shock of revelation aside, that truth did not rankle; barely registered, in fact, save for her fascination with his tail.

_And his colouring. And his horns. And his hair._

_Oh, shut up._

With her back aching beneath her sweat-soaked leathers, Jaiyan settled down to a long watch amid the hazy air and the bones of the fallen dracolich, and wondered what she might say to Valen once they returned to Lith My'athar.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter Twenty-Four – Homecoming**_

Three days passed in the cavern beneath Drearing's Deep while Valen seethed impatiently and Jaiyan did not let him move. Deekin had been press-ganged into stuffing as much of Vix'thra's treasure into their packs as he could manage, while Jaiyan watched over the wounded tiefling. On the afternoon of the third day, after she had bullied him into drinking the last two healing potions, the wound had seemed cleaner, the skin not at all angry. The line of the cut was almost closed, the flesh around it pale as the rest of him. She helped him to his feet, and strapped his armour on. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he grated. He tried to swing Devil's Bane back over into its harness, but the sudden pain made him hunch over.

"Here. Let me." Leaning up on her toes, she arranged the flail across his shoulders. "Is that acceptable?"

He grunted an affirmation.

They wove a careful path back up through the labyrinth of corridors and passageways and arches. Above, the lava pools still simmered and bubbled, and the tunnels were mercifully free of vampires. Jaiyan walked alongside Valen, and tried not to observe him too closely. She knew he was proud, and stubborn to the core, but the injury had been dreadful, and she still worried. She saw how his face tightened if he missed a pace and jolted himself; all she could do was hope they made it safely back to Lith My'athar in time for the Seer to heal him.

The temple doors finally rose in front of them, swinging open once Jaiyan shoved her shoulder against them. She could feel Valen seething behind her; _he_ should have been able to do it, and far easier, she knew.

She shot him a quick glance, and saw the obstinate set to his jaw. _Sulk away, tiefling_, she thought wryly. _I am not risking you tearing yourself up inside._

She stepped out into the damp, cool air of Drearing's Deep, and nearly walked into Cordigan. The little gnome gazed up at her with round, unblinking eyes. "You…you've come back!"

"Yes?" she said, warily.

"Usually…people don't come back."

She saw the flickering fear in his face, and explained, "Sodalis is dead. _Really_ dead. And so is Vix'thra."

The second name made Cordigan blanch. "You're…you're sure? The thing…it's dead? Because…it was already dead."

"No, it's really dead. We smashed its phylactery and killed it."

Cordigan's eyebrows rose. "It's dead? Really dead?"

"Really dead."

The gnome stood for a long moment, staring off into space. "Then that means…"

"You can do whatever you want," she said softly. "There's nothing underneath the temple now."

Cordigan nodded blankly. "Thank you," he said, still sounding dazed.

While the little gnome blinked and ambled away to announce the news to the others, Jaiyan led the way back through the outpost, to the rock archway. The air out here seemed cleaner somehow, moving freely, and tasting of cold water. _And yet a few scant weeks ago, you thought the Underdark so crowded, so cramped with rock and dead air. _

Valen strode along beside her, speaking only to guide her. Given the severity of his injury, they had argued their way to deciding on taking the longer trek back to the city; the safer, quieter, albeit much longer way back. He had been adamant that he could take down drow raider parties even if he was half dead; and while she did not entirely doubt him, neither did she wish to test him.

Five hours steady, quiet walking took them around high outcrops of jagged rock, and past a dark, shimmering lake. The trail wound between two high stone chimneys, and swung towards a narrow cave.

"Here," Valen said. "There should be water."

Inside, the cave proved long and low-roofed, the walls on either side rubbed smooth by time. Somewhere close by, water ran and rushed. While Deekin piled up the last of the wood scavenged from Vix'thra's lair, Jaiyan checked Valen's wound. Ignoring his entirely put-out expression, she unwrapped the bandages. "It's better. Still clean. I think you'll be fine."

He grunted.

"You're doing that a lot at the moment." She found a waterskin, damped a spare cloth. "You are allowed to speak to me, you know."

He glowered a moment longer before giving in. "I just feel…helpless."

"I know. I understand." She wiped the cold cloth across his skin, hid her smile when he flinched. "You don't need to, though."

"If we get ambushed, you are not allowed to suddenly decide you're a hero and leap wildly into the fray."

She glanced up at him, and was suddenly very aware of his proximity. "I've been leaping wildly into the fray long before I met you."

"Not with drow."

"Fair point." She yanked the fresh bandages tight around his chest, and he inhaled sharply. "I'll take second watch. You can have the first. "

For once, he did not argue. He eased his shirt back on, and sat heavily beside the fire. "This place is days from the raider trails. Unless they tracked us from Drearing's Deep, we should be safe tonight."

She stared into the writhing flames, and tried not to remember the dracolich, towering above her. "So the Valsharess is gearing up for some huge attack, am I right?"

"Yes."

She shivered. "I've never been in a proper battle before."

"My lady, I'm sure you've…"

"Fought in small groups. Against other small groups. But defending a city? No."

Deekin lifted his head from his notes. "That be what we call a siege, Boss."

_A siege of a city under the ground. So far beneath the surface no one up there would ever know it's happening._ She linked her arms around her knees and shuddered.

"My lady? Are you alright?"

She jumped, and looked across the fire into Valen's concerned blue eyes. "Yes. I was just…thinking. I've never been in a siege before, either."

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire, and the slight scratching of Deekin's quill. She shifted, and her shirt peeled away from her shoulders. She was filthy, she realized with a grimace. Caked with grime and blood and dirt, bruised and battered underneath. Some stray thought wondered if her mother would recognize anything in her of the short, underfed girl who had fled into the cold night, what seemed so many years ago.

"My lady?"

She blinked. "Yes?"

"If I remember right," he said slowly, "There's a pool. At the back of the cave. The walls curve around," he added hurriedly. "If you wanted to bathe. To clean up."

Sudden heat rushed into her face, along with the irrational urge to giggle. _It's alright, because the walls curve around?_ "Ah…that would be very welcome." She pushed up to her feet, and managed to retain some dignity while she rummaged for clean clothes in her pack. "Do call if we get attacked, won't you?"

Not quite able to look him in the eyes, she dived around the corner at the back of the cave, and met only darkness. "Ah…Deeks? Can I borrow a light spell?"

Without looking up from his notes, Deekin raised one hand. A small point of silver light lifted up from his palm and darted in front of her. The ground dipped away in front of her, and she saw the glint of water. "You're sure there's nothing nasty in here?" she called.

"Not the last time I checked," Valen answered.

_Wonderful. So you might have to rescue me naked and dripping wet from some nasty Underdark fish-monster. _She briefly wondered if that could truly be considered a problem. She inspected the pool, but the magelight showed her nothing but a few feet of clear water, and smooth, pale rock beneath.

Horribly aware of the others, and the narrow, dark channel of rock between them, she wriggled out of her stained leathers. She slipped quickly into the water, and was startled to discover it warm. "I thought it was going to be hideously glacial," she called out.

"I wanted to pleasantly surprise you."

_I know what _would_ be a pleasant surprise_. She bit her lip and sank under the water. She surfaced spluttering, blinded by her own hair, and with her thoughts no less inappropriate. Trying to distract herself, she combed her fingers through her long, wet tresses. She turned her attention to her sweat-grimed skin, and rubbed at the dirt and dried blood that seemed ingrained on her palms. She scrubbed madly at her arms next, and tried to focus on simple, mundane things.

_Your hair is filthy. Wash that next. _

_Should have brought the soap. It's in Deekin's pack. _

_Maybe we could ask Valen to bring it..?_

She snarled and dunked her head under the water again. _Remember the important things. Geas. Valsharess. Impending possible siege. Escaping the Underdark with all limbs intact. _

_Valen. _

She blew bubbles through her nose, groaned underwater and tried to force her mind blank.

_It's not working, is it?_

_No. _

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Valen sat methodically cleaning his armour, quietly glad that the kobold bard had drifted off to sleep. Wrapped in blankets and his notes, Deekin whistled softly through a nose buried between his arms. Valen spared the kobold a brief, wry glance before returning his gaze to the curve of his breastplate, now smooth and gleaming. He leaned the armour on the ground beside his knee, and tried to keep his thoughts from wandering back to the Seer's messiah.

_Jaiyan. Not just the Seer's messiah. She's a woman._

The instant he had heard of the Seer's visions, of a saviour from the surface, an unknown stranger brought to the Underdark to step in front of him, he had convinced himself that the Seer's messiah would be at best a failure, and worst, a traitor.

But, despite all his best efforts to be icy and uncompromising – and all his attempts to stay _uninvolved_ – there was something oddly compelling about her.

He growled and scrubbed his hands through his hair. _Compelling?_ He thought. _What do we mean, compelling? In that you wouldn't mind knowing what she really thinks of you? In that you wouldn't have minded being invited along with her to wash?_

Another snarl bubbled up in his throat, quickly swallowed as Deekin sighed in his sleep and turned over.

Against his better judgment, he had found himself talking to her – no, not talking, _spilling his guts to her_. Speaking of times before his service to the Seer, when he had been someone else, lost to the Blood Wars. And even before that, when he had been closer to who he was now, and in love.

He heard footfalls against the stone, and dragged himself from his thoughts.

Jaiyan emerged around the corner, disheveled and trailing water. Her shirt was open at the throat, and he could see a pale expanse of damp skin. Wet dark hair spilled over her shoulders, trailing down past the neck of her shirt. Valen felt the beginnings of a blush and made himself look away.

"I feel almost human," she said, smiling. "That was the best idea you've had all day."

He nodded, and suddenly could think of nothing to say. He glanced back up at her face, and realized that she did not mind. Instead, she merely leaned back against the wall with her eyes half-closed, and her unruly cascade of dark hair slowly drying. Silence descended, companionable and comfortable. He watched the flames, and then her face, with those high cheekbones and thickly-lashed eyes.

"Valen?"

He jumped and wrenched his gaze away. "Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded.

"How did you escape Grimash't?"

This time, he did not immediately want to back away, to close off and snarl something defiant. This was simply something from the past, something that had once happened. _Something he needed to talk about. _"He took to putting me in a cage," he heard himself say.

The memory was still stark, and sharp as a sword-cut. _Bare metal bars, rimed with frost some nights, and glowing with heat others. Nothing inside the cage but cold stone and chains to shackle him to the bars. He was never allowed armour or weapons inside it, and some days Grimash't denied him clothes. _

_That, or Kyreia was hurt. _

"He still let me out to fight for him, or to torture me, but I spent most nights and some days in a cage in his fortress. And it so happened that the fortress was attacked." He shrugged. He could feel her gaze on him, rapt and compassionate. "They were rival tanar'ri, and I think that kept me alive, because they just ignored me. The attack tore the fortress apart, and my cage was ripped open."

_There had been a tremor, tearing through stone and wood and metal, and the floor leaned precariously under him. Huge gashes opened in the walls opposite, and stone crunched nearby. Another violent jolt through the fortress, and the cage gaped wide, buckled and bent. _

"I got out," he said flatly, as if simple words could encompass the chaos and terror of running blinding through a fortress of battling tanar'ri, half-naked, weak and without weapons. He had fled down to the armoury, and found it empty and blood-splashed. And there he recovered Devil's Bane from its hook on the wall, untouched. "It turned out that Grimash't's fortress was not far from Sigil, and I found my way back there."

She did not speak, merely watched him, listening.

Appreciating her attentive silence, he added, "There are portals that lead from Sigil to many places and many planes. I was desperate to find the Seer, and I knew somehow that she was from this world. Eventually, I discovered a portal that a marilith held control over. It led through to this plane. She let me use it for a…favour."

Jaiyan grinned wickedly at him. "What kind of a favour?"

He felt sudden, unhelpful heat suffuse his cheeks. "Ah…I'd really rather not say."

Her smirk only widened. "Why don't you show me, instead?"

He coughed, and wondered if she could hear his heart galloping. "Ah, my lady, I…"

"Hang on." She frowned at him. "Deekin told me about mariliths once. Don't they have four arms?"

He winced. "Sometimes six."

"I don't know whether I feel naïve or just glad I wasn't born in Sigil." She raked her fingers through her hair. "So, after this infamous _favour_ that you're not going to talk about, what happened?"

_You enjoy seeing me squirm, don't you?_ He thought sourly. "I found myself on your world. And before you ask where, I have no idea."

_It was raining, and evening, when he stepped out of the portal. Clouds rippled overhead, thick and grey and heavy with water. Beneath his feet were crushed ferns and damp moss. Trees reared up from curling mist, tangled and bowed and ancient. He breathed in, and tasted cool twilit air. _

"I don't know how long I looked, and I can't even remember who I asked or how I found it out, but I discovered that the Seer would be in the Underdark." He scowled at the memory, or rather, the lack of it. He knew it had been raining that first night; he knew he had spent weeks walking through leagues of rain-misted forest. He recalled hiding his demonic appearance beneath cloaks and loose clothing. He remembered the feel of the snow falling.

_But he could not for the life of him recall _who_ he had spoken to, or _where.

_Or even how he had learned of the Underdark._

"It's alright," Jaiyan said softly. "I'm not going to tell you I understand, because I don't. Because whenever I can't remember things, it's because I've done something terribly human, like assume I can down an entire bottle of whiskey in one sitting. But it is alright."

Something seared through her words, part understanding and part confession. "Thank you," he murmured. "I did get down here eventually, and I found Lith My'athar, and the Seer."

Jaiyan tilted her head. "And what happened?"

_To begin with, nothing. The Seer met him at the gates, and took his hands until he stopped trembling. _

"_You are Valen Shadowbreath," she said, gently. "And you have come from the Abyss."_

_He nodded raggedly. "I know I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have…"_

"_Ssh." She touched the side of his face. "I know when you fought us you were summoned. I know the chains that bound you, flesh and soul."_

_She led him into the city, and into the old temple. Up twisting stairs, and into a chamber with a black basalt floor and a circular bed. She read him correctly, and ordered no servants to help him; she left him alone to bathe and to think. _

_After the dirt and blood and sweat of months upon months of searching had been scrubbed from his skin, he discovered clean clothes laid on the bed in the adjoining chamber. He had not the strength of mind left to question how the tunic and shirt and leggings and boots fit properly, or why the drow he found outside the door did not demand to know who he was. Instead, they led him up curling steps into the Seer's rooms. _

_There, she sat opposite him and let him collect his thoughts. For long moments, she did not speak, and nor did she request that he do so. He enjoyed the silence, and her patience, and the strange sense of arrival._

"_I wanted to thank you," he said haltingly. _

_She said nothing, only watched him through huge eyes. _

"_I don't know if you know, but you…when we fought your soldiers, you looked at me, and I thought…I felt…" His throat closed up. _

"_I know." Very gently, she lifted his chin. "You are not broken, whatever you might think. And you are welcome." A sudden smile illuminated her ebony face. "You may have as much time as you need, Valen. You are most welcome here."_

"So how long did it take you to start ordering the drow around?" Jaiyan inquired archly.

He smiled, despite himself. "Not long," he allowed.

She grinned. "What happened to Grimash't? Did you ever find out?"

"Oh, yes. He sent…oh, five? No, six…six minions after me while I was looking for the Underdark. They…did not survive to report."

Her smile turned vicious. "Good. And Grimash't himself?"

"Came after me when he became angry enough. He cornered me…somewhere." He scowled again, still frustrated by his inability to remember properly. He knew there had been trees, with their green-leafed branches fanning out overhead, and the cries of crows. "I discovered that my skill at killing devils also extends to killing demons. Imagine that."

"Good," she said again, quieter, but still fierce.

He knew her well enough now that he should have guessed that she would not be critical or harsh of his choices, or his past, but still, he was secretly pleased at her reaction. He recalled Grimash't's mocking smile, and the derision in the demon's burning yellow eyes.

"_This is for that mortal whore of yours, isn't it?" the demon growled. "You always had a weakness for mortal women."_

_Rain fell in his eyes, half-blinding him along with his anger. He spun the flail above his head. He no longer cared that Grimash't was so much bigger than him, so much more powerful. He remembered his master's smile as Kyreia had died, as the whips had fallen on his shoulders, as the cage door had slammed closed. _

"_Do you truly think she cared for you?" Grimash't howled. "She was mortal, a girl. Do you truly think she enjoyed you? Or did she think you could keep her safe?"_

_The flail whined through the air, and he saw something very like fear in his master's eyes. _

"_This _is_ for her, isn't it? Escaping, and all this…you are mine, my treasure, and you will be coming back with me, no matter what you think you have to do for some dead whore!"_

_Valen regarded him through unwavering eyes. "You're wrong. This is not just for her. This is also for me."_

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The gates of Lith My'athar rose up before them, black against the dark stone behind. Two drow soldiers hurried to swing the huge metal gates open, while a third hurriedly saluted. "General," he muttered. "Expected you back a few days ago."

Valen fixed the drow with a stare that could have withered an oak. "Complications," he said.

The drow nodded. "I understand, General. The Seer expects you."

As the gates crashed closed behind them, Jaiyan felt relief wash through her. The absurd feeling that they were safe made her smile. _Don't be ridiculous,_ her thoughts counseled. _It's just an outpost with walls and a temple. Which is likely to be attacked in the very near future._

Happily ignoring herself, she followed Valen to the temple steps with Deekin hopping along beside her. The market square was bustling with drow, and the sound of Rizolvir beating out shields at his forge. A dark shape detached from a nearby stall and barreled towards them.

Jaiyan turned and flinched as the shape stopped with enviable grace. "Nathyrra?"

The drow woman looked her up and down quickly. "You're all alright?"

"Oh, you do have a heart under there?" Jaiyan smirked. "We're all fine. Why the sudden worry?"

Nathyrra arched a white eyebrow. "You're late. Let's just say that some of us were worried that the Seer's messiah had been turned into a messy puddle of blood somewhere."

"Oh, I'm touched."

"The Seer's waiting." Nathyrra's gaze switched to Valen. "You're hurt."

He glared. "I'm fine."

Nathyrra raised her hands. "Nice to see you've returned as prickly as you left."

Jaiyan threw the drow woman another grin before trailing after the tiefling. Inside the temple, the air was cool and filled with the scent of burning incense. They headed up the stairs, and towards the silence of the Seer's chambers.

In front of the doors, Valen paused, suddenly uncomfortable.

Watching him, she understood, and found that she was not bristling at the idea of being excluded. He needed the time to talk to the Seer, to explain, and to be healed.

"It's alright," Jaiyan said. "You need healing. I need a bath."

Something flashed in his blue eyes, something tender. "Thank you," he answered quietly. He smiled. "I promise I'll tell her _you_ killed the dracolich."


	25. Chapter 25

_Thank you so much to everyone who's following this story, and just a reminder of the rating for this chapter. _

_**Chapter Twenty-Five – Waiting**_

Jaiyan trudged up the stairs. Her feet ached and she longed for a bath and to work the soap deep into her hair. Deekin had bounded off to talk to Nathyrra about the undead at Drearing's Deep, and Valen was due for a healing with the Seer. She shoved the door open, and stepped inside her room. She glanced briefly at the dark walls with their twists of curling metal and white marble veins. Drow architecture was sometimes stubborn to the point of boredom, she decided.

She leaned back on the bed and shed her pack and her boots. Carelessly dropping cape and gloves and swordbelt behind her, she meandered through into the bath chamber. She smiled beatifically as she saw that the Seer's servants had already arrived and filled the bath. Steam floated above the water, lit by the hanging lamps.

Jaiyan stripped off her shirt and tunic and leggings and left them in a filthy pile by the door. Happily naked, she paused to hook up a brandy decanter and a glass, and ensconced herself in the bath.

She wasted the best part of an hour, watching the twining steam and sipping the fiery brandy. She scrubbed the worst of the dirt and grit from her hair and dragged a comb through the long brown strands. She sank back in the water and let her hair spill out behind her.

Much later, reluctantly, she heaved herself out and went in search of a towel. She mopped up the water from her hair and dug around in her pack, searching for a shirt that was neither bloodstained nor in need of immediate repair. Failing, she selected a grey, open-necked shirt with lines of stitches on both elbows. She pulled on a faded blue tunic after that and laced her boots back up. And promptly flopped onto the bed, determined to hide in her room until night fell. Or whatever the equivalent was, down here in the darkness. She guessed she still slept at roughly the same times, for the same stretches; but the lack of sunset and sunrise still unnerved her.

Deekin would be safe with Nathyrra, and she could check on Valen later. She raised the brandy glass to her lips again, and spluttered when the door crashed open and the little kobold stampeded in. "Deekin! Didn't we talk about knocking?"

Deekin nodded. "Yes, Boss. But this is important!"

His tiny frame was almost humming with excitement. "Alright," she said. "What's happened?"

"Blacksmith drow and innkeeper drow listen to Deekin telling all about dracolich."

"And?"

"And innkeeper drow says Deekin can write song about it and sing about it in tavern." Deekin nodded and added, "Tonight!"

"Tonight?" Jaiyan smiled. "So he liked your other songs?"

"Deekin thinks so. Innkeeper drow say they be unique."

"He's absolutely right."

Deekin grinned, all teeth. "So…will Boss come and listen?"

She had wanted to do nothing but laze in bed, maybe skulk down to the tavern for a few quiet drinks, and perhaps discover where Valen was lurking. But Deekin was looking up at her, all sparkling black eyes and hopeful grin. "Course I will," she said.

"Thanks, Boss!" With that, Deekin was gone, a small, indomitable whirlwind of tail and wings and enthusiasm.

Still chuckling, Jaiyan buckled her sword and dagger back on and ventured out into the cooling, torchlight streets of the city. At the tavern, she ducked under the lintel and into a familiar haze of smoke and sound. She could smell roasting meat and ale and leather, and the ever-present, sharper scent of incense. Deekin was already preening himself at the hearth, his lute across his lap and his head bowed.

At the bar, the innkeeper pushed a tankard across to her. "The lady cares for ale?"

"The lady certainly does." She glanced around, and was suddenly aware of the drow patrons looking at her. Some surreptitiously, some more openly, but all of them staring at her. "Ah…has my hair changed colour?"

"We heard about the dracolich," the innkeeper said, smiling. "To take down such a creature…most of the soldiers in here only dream of such a thing."

_Would it help if they knew I was petrified the whole time? Not really, _she thought wryly. _Not when Deekin's song is bound to declare the opposite._

"Well…I had help."

"A kobold and the general," the innkeeper protested. "Three of you. I know the general could probably stare a dragon to death, but even so…"

She laughed and tipped the tankard up. The ale slipped down her throat easily, warming her. But something uneasy prickled at her, and she wondered where Valen was, and if he was alright.

At the hearth, Deekin dashed out a striking, clear note on the lute. His fingers ran up and down the strings, and the sound cascaded out, invoking silence in the taproom. He drew in a deep breath, and Jaiyan noticed his wings shaking. He beat time with his tail while his fingers plucked faster and faster at the trembling strings; and finally, he opened his mouth and started to sing.

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Valen stretched the bowstring back to his jawline, sighted, and fired. The arrow thunked hard into the target, and he sighed. He preferred the up-close, brutal feel of close combat, and could not quite appreciate the timing and artistry involved with archery.

Beside him, watching, Imloth inclined his head. "I know you don't like it, but you're good at it."

He grunted. "You're better."

"I'm a lot older than you." Imloth grinned. "I think."

Valen dropped the bow back on its rack and paced. Dust rose from the practice field, and he ignored it, and the lights he could see spilling from the tavern. He had heard the rumours, that the kobold was going to sing some masterpiece in honour of the defeat of Vix'thra, and he knew he should probably be there. But he had no love for crowds, and he preferred the idea of catching Jaiyan alone than in a packed taproom.

He growled and unslung his flail. Three strong blows reduced the nearest target to splinters.

Imloth folded his arms. "What's on your mind?"

Valen spun and launched at the next target.

"I'll have to spare two recruits to make more of those tomorrow," the drow said amiably.

Valen stared at clouds of wooden shards and sighed again. "What do I do?"

Imloth balanced his bow across his shoulders. "Repair my targets?"

"You know what I mean." He yanked the flail away. "Everything was so clear, and now it isn't."

"Valen." Imloth looked at him sidelong. "Are you honestly asking a drow for this kind of help?"

The tiefling laughed. "Maybe I am. What would a drow say?"

"Take her to bed. Along with two other maidens at least as pretty as her."

"She's not a maiden."

"Even better." Imloth crouched down beside him. "This may be very un-drow-like of me, but we followers of Eilistraee get funny ideas sometimes. Would it be so wrong to simply ask her? Or talk to her, at least?"

"Why would she want to?"

"Now you sound like some lovesick child." Imloth raked his hands through his long white hair. "Nothing intimidates you."

"Some things do." Valen rested his chin on his hands and stared off into the distance.

"You see, I shouldn't even be bothering with this." Imloth shot him an arch look. "I should be telling you to worry about the defense of the city and the Seer, and the defeat of the Valsharess."

"Have you ever worried about anything else?" Valen asked.

"Before I came here, I worried about living and breathing, every day. I worried if my…different beliefs were going to incur the wrath of the Matron Mothers. I worried if I was going to be seen to be weak by other males. I worried if I was going to be asked to do something I didn't want to by a priestess." He shrugged. "Everybody worries."

The tiefling said nothing.

"Valen, I trust your battle strategies as if you're the oracle. But around women, you're hopeless." Imloth prodded him. "What do want me to say? Write her poetry? Take her to the tavern? Spar with her some more?"

Valen opened his mouth to retort, but fast-running footsteps against the ground intruded. The tiefling looked sideways, saw a short, slender drow scout pelting across the practice field, ribboned with sweat.

The scout skidded to a halt and gulped down lungfulls of air.

"Take a moment," Imloth said quietly. "What's happened, soldier?"

The scout cast a wary eye at Valen. "General…Commander. There's…we saw…"

"Spit it out," Valen barked.

"It's all written down." The scout pushed a handful of parchment at Imloth. "The Valsharess' army. On the move from her fortress." The scout shuddered and sucked down another deep breath. "She has beholders, some ilithid. Drow by the hundreds."

Valen nodded grimly. "How far?"

"Four days. Probably three."

"You're exhausted," Imloth noted gently. "Get yourself cleaned up."

While the scout sprinted away, Valen stared at the ground for a heartbeat. "Send runners to the soldiers," he said briskly. "The Seer has to know. This city has to be on full alert as quickly as possible."

"By the time you get to the tavern," Imloth said, wry.

"What?"

"So you can tell her ladyship."

Valen laughed, and it sounded brittle. "Am I that transparent?"

"Maybe only to me." Imloth looked at him, and saw the set determination in his face. "I'll deal with the city. You deal with your lady."

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Jaiyan stepped out into the cool, peaceful quiet of the street outside. Behind her, the tavern was rollicking with laughter and shouts and ebullient conversation. Deekin's ballad had pleased them, she thought, still amused. He had turned Valen into a paragon of combat, her into a long-haired damsel of the sword, and himself into unwilling yet heroic kobold observer. In rhyme.

_And they had loved it. _

Remembering the way the patrons had thumped on the benches and hollered the repeating chorus, she smiled. It seemed strange, on reflection, that Deekin would find his perfect audience down here, among dour-faced drow. _Who apparently loosen up like everyone else after a good victory and a few drinks. _

She rounded the corner of the marketplace, and nearly walked into Valen. "You read my mind," she said easily. "I was wondering where you were."

"At the practice fields. Something's happened." His gaze skipped across her. "We've had a scout come back. The Valsharess' army is three days away."

She stared at him. Her stomach felt leaden, and her heart thumped. "Three days..?"

"If that."

Her thoughts scattered. "What do we do now?"

"Imloth is setting more patrols and sending soldiers to the gates."

"But they're all in the tavern getting drunk."

"Then they'll be working off their hangovers on patrol." He paused, and she noticed the tension in him. "I need to go and talk to the Seer."

She nodded again. She felt unreal, as if _someone else_ had just been told the news. "Yes. Ah…could you come and talk to me afterwards?"

His tail flicked. "To you?"

The hard, military tone was in his voice again, and she almost flinched. "Please," she said, wavering. "I've never been in a siege before."

His blue eyes softened, and he raised his hand, as if he might touch her. "Of course," he answered.

Still feeling dazed, she stepped around him. She glanced over her shoulder, and watched him stride across the empty marketplace, his tail lashing behind him and his shoulders rigid.

_A battle. A siege. Oh Gods. I don't do sieges. _

_You killed the dracolich._

_But I don't do sieges._

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she made her way towards the temple. _You always knew there would be some kind of battle_, she reminded herself. _Yes, but I thought…it might just go away._

_And Valen…well, he's back in soldier frame of mind, so what does that mean?_

_Yes, but he said he'd come see you later. _

The walk to the temple slowed her heartbeat, and calmed her thoughts somewhat. She shoved thoughts of impending sieges and battles and fullscale combat into some part of her mind tentatively labeled _some other day_. Still uneasy, she jogged up the steps and into the rooms that were becoming disconcertingly familiar.

She sat at the casement, staring out towards the stone ramparts of the gates. _Three days_. Three days of waiting and pacing and cleaning her sword and trying to sleep. She contemplated the virtues of getting roaring drunk, and wryly decided against it. It would probably not be best to be caught sloshed if the Valsharess' troops arrived early.

A knock on the door startled her out of reverie. "Yes?"

"May I come in?" Valen asked gruffly.

"Do you bring ale? Or even brandy?"

"No," he answered, sounding perplexed. "Should I?"

"Ah, never mind. Enter anyway." She turned as he opened the door. "I've probably got some in here somewhere, anyway."

He still wore his dark green armour, and he was, as ever, armed. "How are you faring?"

"I'm terrified," she answered baldly. She slumped back down on the windowseat. She wanted to ask what he thought might happen, what he knew about the Valsharess' battle tactics. "I've never done this before. My experience is limited to leading small bands of mad adventurers against slightly bigger bands of bandits."

He sat across from her, clasped his gloved hands on his lap. "You fought Heurodis," he remembered. "And with me, you fought Sabal and Aghaaz. The ilithid. And the dracolich."

Some part of her suspected him of flattery. "That's still…" She shook her head, and noticed that there was little space between them on the windowseat. "Commanding troops. I've never done it and I hate the idea of it. I don't want that many people looking to me to tell them what to do. I've been in scraps and skirmishes. Never battles. Can't you do it for me?"

He smiled, not mocking. "You are the Seer's messiah, remember?"

"Wonderful." Her mouth twisted. "I'm a mercenary, Valen. I'm not a general."

"I know." He shifted against the shape of the flail strapped over his shoulder. "I will help you, if you let me. But I cannot do it for you."

"I'd like that." She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. "Was there anything in particular you needed to tell me, by the way?"

"I…wanted to see if you were alright."

"I'll be alright." She pushed away from the casement. "Did you want to share that brandy?"

He inclined his head. "I'd be happy to join you in the drowning of your sorrows, my lady."

She felt the skin between her shoulders tighten. _Don't be ridiculous_, some sane part of her mind shrieked. _All he said was that he'd join you in one drink_.

She clanked the glasses against the decanter; the sound seemed shockingly loud. Fumbling, she poured generous measures and somehow made it back to the casement without her face flaming.

Valen accepted the glass, raised it to his lips. She found herself watching as he swallowed, following the motion of his hand as he laid the glass on the sill.

"So do you think we actually have any chance?" she asked, lazily to try and disguise her fear.

"There is always a chance," he responded lightly. "But there is also always misfortune, bad timing and sheer overwhelming numbers."

"Oh, you're a ray of bright hope." She glared at him. "You will help me tomorrow? Or whenever the endless hordes arrive?"

"Of course. If you wish it."

The sudden silence engulfed her, and she looked away. She hunted for words, could find nothing suitable to say. The long days they had traveled through the darkness and the caves had left them at that curious stage of easily swapping tales and quick comments when outside, in the enveloping dark of the caverns.

But here, again, in a normal room, she realized that they became merely a man and a woman; not heroes, not adventurers bent on saving the Seer's rebels.

_A man and a woman in a city about to be besieged._

"Jaiyan…"

She glanced up; he rarely used her name. She met his gaze, and her thoughts ran wild. "What is it?"

"I will be with you, when the Valsharess' forces arrive." He gazed down at her through those blue eyes. "And I will be here afterwards, if you wish it."

Very carefully, Jaiyan laid her drink down. "I'd like that, Valen."

He reached out, covered her hand with his own. As if she was made of blown glass, he cupped her chin with his other hand. "I will _not_ let anything happen to you."

He tipped her head up, and very gently, he kissed her. Softly, as if afraid she might pull away.

She stared up into his face, frightened and excited and shocked all at once. Her thoughts crashed together madly. _He's not human. There will be a battle soon. What if he gets killed? What will Deekin think? He's blushing again. What if he wants to take that damned flail to bed as well? I wonder if what Nathyrra said about tiefling tails is true. He kissed me first. That must mean he wants me as well. _

"My lady?"

His voice was rough, uncertain. Jaiyan closed the distance between them, felt a tremor run through him as she opened her mouth over his. His lips were warm and tasted of brandy and desire. "You didn't have anywhere else to be tonight, did you?"

He laughed. "You are incorrigible, my lady."

"You started it." She let herself fall back against the curve of the windowseat, pulling him down with her.

Valen threaded a hand through her loose hair, wondering. "I never thought you would…"

"Then you're blind, my tiefling."

He kissed her again, deeply, tasting her. Her thoughts were upended, and she decided to simply enjoy the moment. _And the tiefling_. His face was unguarded as he kissed her, bright with happiness, _despite the looming threat of battle_. Some part of her worried about silly, inconsequential things, like how her faded clothes might look, or if her hair and skin pleased him. His mouth covered hers again, and such worries fled.

"Jaiyan?" he murmured.

His lips were an inch from hers, and her hands had somehow worked their way to his chest, braced against his armour. "Yes?" she managed.

"This is…"

"…I know." She slipped her hands up, and found the soft ends of his hair. She dug her fingers into the thick scarlet strands until she touched his horns. "Demon," she murmured, smiling.

"Don't you mind?" he whispered back.

Her fingers curled around his horns, holding his head in place as she kissed him thoroughly. "Yes, it's terrible." She yelped as his tail lashed out and wrapped around her waist and tightened. "You win! I give up."

He laughed again, low and tempting. He trailed soft kisses along her forehead, and down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. "Do you yield?"

"Never." She kissed him and cupped his face. "Don't you mind that I am simply a boring mortal?"

"You're not boring."His hands roamed across her, finding the frayed hem of her tunic, and the shirt beneath.

She gasped as his fingers crept up, caressing her skin. It had been so long, too long, since a man had touched her in this way; and suddenly she wanted him desperately.

_Do we? _The sensible part of her mind raged. _Do we know what that means? Give yourself to him, and be triply terrified when the Valsharess attacks. Worry not just for yourself, and for Deekin, but for this tiefling. _

She ignored her thoughts and pressed herself against him, despite the armour. She felt the heat in his skin and his mouth as he kissed her. "Valen…"

He picked her up, cradled her against his chest. In four quick strides, he bore her across to the bed, lowered her onto the sheets. He propped himself up on his elbows over her, gazed down at her. "My lady, we should do this…slowly."

She smiled. His weight over her was comforting, somehow, along with his gentle, slightly tentative smile. "Slowly I can live with."

"I'm serious," he murmured. "I…might hurt you otherwise."

She leaned up, found the catches on his breastplate. She worked the clasps free, helped him heave the armour and strapped-on flail onto the floor. Between soft, breathless kisses, she lifted his shirt away, leaned back to admire him briefly.

Jaiyan tugged him down onto her, felt his weight settle over her again. Her thighs opened around his hips, and she could feel the hardness of him, pressing between her legs. She moaned against his mouth, shuddering as his tail tightened about her waist. His fingers were on her shirt ties, yanking the fabric away, baring her skin to him.

Valen's hands explored the contours of her body, smoothing along her collarbone, roaming down over her breasts. His head dipped, and his mouth closed over her nipples, teasing and licking. She gasped and arched against him, locking her legs around the back of his. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she realized that her thoughts were flying apart, and she no longer cared about the city, or the threat of the Valsharess' army; only about the tiefling above her.

He slipped a hand down over her stomach, found her belt buckle. He worked her leathers off, kissed the insides of her thighs.

She shuddered and tipped her head back against the pillows. His fingers found the wetness between her legs, and she heard him murmur her name. Achingly gently, he stroked, opening her beneath his touch. His lips claimed hers again.

She let her eyes close. The pleasure was sweeping her away, and she was losing herself in the unfamiliar sensation of building desire. "Valen…"

Suddenly the motion of his hand and the silken feel of his hair against her breasts was a torment; she wanted him closer, inside her, his arms around her. She pushed onto her elbows, stopped his querying look with a kiss. Grinning wickedly, Jaiyan found the end of his tail, ran her hands down the length of it. She saw his eyes close as he moaned.

She followed the line of his tail to his breeches, found his waistband. He trembled as she slid her hands over him, feeling the shape and stiffness of him.

_Maybe slower would be better_.

Ridiculously, she felt her cheeks redden. She busied herself with his belt and prayed he had not noticed.

"You're blushing, my lady," he murmured in her ear.

Her pulse quickened as she hauled the breeches down over his hips, pushed them onto the floor. She let Valen press her back onto the bed, legs falling open beneath him. His mouth traced her breasts again as he slid gently into her.

She shuddered, tightening instinctively around him. He pushed further, and her back arched. A gasp wrenched from her lips, and not from pleasure.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Just…slowly," she said, imploringly.

He laughed softly. "It has been a long time for you, yes?" As tenderly, he withdrew. "We have all night, if need be."

His fingers slipped into her again, moving faster this time, coaxing the twisting knot of her desire. Jaiyan turned her face up to his, kissed him hungrily. The movement of his mouth was fierce as she pressed against him. When the sudden, half-unexpected release swept through her, she cried out against his throat. Flushed and tousled, she gazed up into his blue eyes. "Valen…"

_And something changed_.

His head dropped to her shoulder, caught the soft skin there between his teeth. The hands on her breasts turned hard and insistent. He got one knee between her legs, pushed her thighs open. "Valen, wait…"

She could no longer see his eyes. "Valen, wait, please…"

The breath hissed between her teeth as he slammed into her, almost lifting her off the bed. His tail lashed out and wrapped around her wrist, holding her down. The second, deep thrust left her breathless. The third, harder again, made her cry out.

She reached out blindly and grabbed a handful of his hair. She yanked his head up, and flinched.

His eyes were flickering, changing; becoming that dull, terrible red colour. "Valen, don't." Jaiyan kept her fist tangled in his hair. "_Look at me. Please_."

His chest was heaving, streaked with sweat. Uncertainty warred with anger on his face. His eyes flicked across her, saw the pain in her gaze. "I am…so sorry."

Ashamed, he pulled out of her too quickly, and she gasped, startled. "Valen…"

He stared down at her, stricken. "I never meant to, Jaiyan," he whispered brokenly. "I never meant it to hurt."

"Ssh." She smoothed his tumbled hair. Her heart was thundering. She was not entirely _frightened_, but she was…unsure. All she knew beneath the thumping of her heartbeat was that she wanted him to stay with her. "I know. It's just…I haven't done this for a long, long time. And you're not exactly small, you know?"

"It wasn't that. I lost control," he said flatly. "Demons…demons are…" He stopped, searching for the right words.

"Generously proportioned?" she asked archly.

"Lust and violence become so similar," he whispered. "The same rage I feel in battle, I sometimes want to give in to…in other situations."

He moved as if to gather himself and push away from her. She grabbed him by the tail and shook her head. "You're not going anywhere. Now I've finally got you naked and in my bed, I intend for you to stay here."

"It doesn't always happen. It doesn't usually happen at all. But…I haven't done this for a long time either. And you're…" He cut himself off and shook his head. "I have no desire to hurt you, my lady. I should go."

"No!" Her own vehemence startled her. "You are not walking out that door, tiefling. Please. Besides, you said we had all night, and I want to hold you to that." She leaned forward, kissed him. Felt him respond tentatively.

Smiling against his lips, she slid her hands down to his waist, and then lower. He shuddered as her fingers circled him. "Will you stay?"

He moaned. "Yes…"

Jaiyan lay back against the sheets, pulled him over her. She was nervous, and could not hide it. But she let him kiss her, and moved against him, as he stroked and caressed her. She saw the open fear in his eyes as he touched her, that he might hurt her, or do something _wrong_. She gave him the time he needed, to explore her with his hands and his mouth, as if proving to himself that he _could_.

And when she grasped his shoulders, he sank over her, despite the fluttering pulse at his throat and his terse expression. She guided him into her, trembling. He eased in gently, eyes on her face, watching her tense briefly. "Jaiyan?"

"You won't hurt me," she breathed.

As if he might irreparably damage her at any moment, Valen pulled out and slid back into her slowly. Jaiyan arched up against him, wound her arms around his shoulders. "Don't stop," she murmured in his ear.

He propped himself up on his elbows, plunged deeply into her. Her hands slipped down to his waist as he began thrusting carefully, eyes always on her face, watching her. Jaiyan tipped her head back, losing herself in the sensation of him inside her. His head dropped to her shoulder, traced the line of her collarbone with his mouth.

"It's alright," she said, quietly. "Valen…it's me. It's just me."

He moaned against her throat, and his arms locked around her. She thought she heard him murmur her name again. His mouth was against her skin, and the _feel_ of him, sliding against her and _inside_ her was something she did not want to give up. At the end, when he cried out in sudden release, she clenched her fingers over his shoulders. "Valen…"

He stared down at her, shaking all over. "My lady?"

She smiled up at him lazily. "I'm glad you stayed."

Valen settled himself beside her, gathered her against his chest. "Did I hurt you?"

She twisted her fingers through his hair. "A little," she answered honestly. "At the very end."

"I did not mean to."

"I know," she said brightly. "Besides, we'll just have to practice until we get it right, hmm?"

He laughed. "I'd like that."

She trailed a hand down his chest. "And anyway, I want to know exactly what you can do with that tail."

Valen flushed. He flicked the end of his tail into her hands, gently exasperated. "Fine. Do with me what you will."

She chuckled and swept her hands down the long, sinewy length of it. Keeping her gaze on his face, she opened her mouth around the tip, stroked the warm skin with her tongue.

He growled and crushed her against his chest. "Where did you learn to do that, my lady?"

She teased his nipples with her teeth. "You're complaining?"

Valen rolled over, carrying her with him. "Not at all." He balanced her above him, her knees on either side of his hips, and his tail winding around her waist. His hands slipped up, fanned across the spread of her ribs. "You're small."

"You've just got big hands." She smirked down at him. "And big everything else, apparently." She leaned on his chest, enjoying the solid, warm feel of him beneath her. "You feel very good."

"Good." He ran his hands up and down the slope of her back, exploring, gently stroking. "So do you."

"Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"When the Valsharess attacks…." A sudden, unbidden flood of tears blinded her, and she scowled.

"Don't do that," he murmured. "We can talk and enjoy each other all night, if you want. But no tears."

"I'm sorry." Angry at herself, she scrubbed a hand roughly across her eyes. "It's just…_Gods_, we should have done this a long time ago. And if I die, then we won't be able to do it again."

He laughed softly. "You will not die, and neither will I. And we can do this as much and as often as you wish."

"You'd better mean that," she said fiercely. She blinked rapidly, still irritated at herself. "Gods, I'm not usually like this. I promise."

He kissed her. "And I am not usually like this, so what are we to do with ourselves?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm sure we'll think of something." She rested her cheek on his chest, listened to the rhythm of his breathing. "So I guess you trust me now, yes?"

He tightened his arms around her. "With all my heart."

There was something in his voice, something that gave her pause. She lifted her head, gazed into his clear blue eyes. "You mean that."

Not a question, and he understood. "I mean that."

She sighed against his pale skin. "Don't leave me tonight."

"How could I?" He moved, tilted her head up. His blue eyes seemed softer, the smile beneath gentle. "Jaiyan, if you will have me, I will not leave you again."


	26. Chapter 26

_A huge thank-you to everyone who's keeping up with this story - knowing people are reading and enjoying keeps me going! Usual disclaimer in place, as ever. _

_**Chapter Twenty-Six – Trust**_

Jaiyan drifted, near to sleep, and listening to the soft thump of Valen's heartbeat beneath her cheek. His hands trailed up and down her back, stroking. Her own fingers twisted in the ends of his hair. The silence was comforting, broken only by the rhythm of their breathing, or the bed creaking when Valen shifted to gather her tighter against him. She turned her face into his chest, tasting sweat and warm skin. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm not keeping you from shouting out orders at hapless soldiers, am I?"

He laughed. "No. Imloth is perfectly capable of shouting on his own. And if you are, then you are a wonderful distraction."

"Mmm. Good." She wriggled closer until her skin was pressed against his, and his mouth was all of an inch from hers. This close, his eyes were jewel-bright, and all the severity and wariness had melted away. "You have very pretty eyes."

He frowned. "I'm male."

"Men can be pretty." When his frown only deepened, she pouted at him. "Oh, fine. You have very _striking _eyes."

"Thank you, my lady."

His tail slipped up, winding around her waist, and she sighed. She leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth was warm and inviting, and she felt herself responding. Despite bone-deep tiredness, despite the aches and exhaustion left after Drearing's Deep, and the looming threat of battle, she wanted nothing more than to while the hours away with him in this room, away from the concerns of the city outside.

His hands locked at her waist, pulling her against him. "Jaiyan…"

She ran her hands up and down his back. She kissed him again, and discovered that she was breathing hard and desperately against his mouth. "Valen, I…"

"I know." He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. His mouth touched her collarbones, then lower, teasingly. When she grabbed his horns and attacked his jawline and throat with her lips and tongue, he laughed. "Slow down," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Slightly mollified, she let him go and gasped as his hands moved across her, gently kneading. She looked down at his broad, pale chest beneath her, and the spill of his scarlet hair, and swallowed. _Gods, how she wanted him_.

He pulled her head down to his, and she shuddered as his mouth opened onto hers. He caressed her, exploring the lines and curves of her shoulders and her waist. She sighed against him and let herself go, aware only of him, and his breath, and his mouth as he kissed her.

They made love again, patiently and tenderly, taking the time to explore each other, to learn each other's bodies. He discovered that the soft skin between her hips and her ribs was hideously ticklish, and that she shivered when he kissed the back of her neck. She delighted in following the faint trail of red hair that descended from his navel and mercilessly teasing him. After demanding that he turn over, she took far too much time studying the place where his tail joined his body.

"What exactly is so fascinating?"

"Well, excuse me, but I've never seen a man with a tail before." She lifted his tail up, and he groaned.

"You're making me feel like livestock," he protested.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips across the base of his spine, and then on to his tail. "Oh, really?"

He moaned underneath her. "Wicked woman."

"Oh, poor hard-done-by tiefling." She stroked his tail, and felt another tremor ripple through him.

"_Oh_, Gods." He flipped over, startling her. In another motion she was flat on her back, and he was kneeling between her thighs. "Jaiyan, I…"

"It's alright," she murmured. "I want you, too."

There had been the flicker of something else on his face, some worry that she might reject him. His mouth met hers and his large frame covered her much smaller one as they moved together, skin sliding against skin and breath coming in short gasps.

Afterwards, she curled herself against his chest and tried to think when she had last felt this simply _uncaring_, this certain that whatever might happen would be somehow worked out and solved. He was combing his hands through the unbound length of her hair, and he pressed absent-minded kisses against her forehead.

She found bread and cheese, on the table nearest the window. She tried feeding him squares of the cheese and wryly decided that such things were better left to the torrid novels she had unearthed in a half-forgotten corner of Drogan's library. _Or maybe this just works better with strawberries and white wine_, she decided.

Valen tugged her back down onto the bed. "My lady, would you care to bathe?"

She grinned. "Are you saying that I smell?'

"You smell of _me_."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Can you tell? I mean, is that a tiefling thing?"

"Well," he said, warily, "I probably have a better sense of smell than you. But not as good as a drow's, I'd wager."

"_How_ much better?"

He blinked. "Is it important?"

"It might be, given that I'm sure I read somewhere that drow can smell desire."

He laughed. "I don't think I can do _that_."

"Oh." Vaguely relieved, she traced a hand across his chest. "So, about that bath..?"

As always, the drow servants had refilled the bath in the adjoining chamber. Jaiyan sank into the water first and admiringly watched as Valen paused to find soap. Her eyes lingered on his chest and arms, then dipped lower as he turned.

"You're staring," he said.

She grinned. "You're good to stare at."

He stepped into the water and sat behind her, his knees on either side of hers and his arms loose around her waist. "My lady is pleased?"

"Mmm. Very." She leaned back against him and sighed.

He scooped up handfuls of water, soaking her hair. He swept the long dark strands back over her shoulders. While he rubbed soap into her hair, she let her eyes close. "That feels wonderful."

He laughed softly. His fingers worked against her scalp, massaging. "You are beautiful."

Her face coloured. _Don't be stupid,_ her mind raged. _You're naked, he's naked, you're in a bath together, and you've just enjoyed two rounds between the sheets. How can you possibly be blushing at a compliment now?_

He pushed the sodden weight of her hair to one side, and she felt his fingertips ghost across her skin. "How did you get this?"

He meant the three-inch scar that tracked down the middle of her shoulderblade. "My very first orc patrol. They were all very big, very scary, and to this day I am not quite sure how I got out alive. Their leader was a huge brute of a creature, and he sliced right through my leathers and tried to carve my shoulder apart."

His touched just above her hip. "And this one?"

"Clipped by an arrow. It scarred badly because we ran out of healing potions, and Deekin had to sew it up for me."

"Clever kobold."

She turned around and slid her legs around his. She looked down, and noticed again a star-shaped scar halfway up his left thigh. "Where did this come from?"

"Crossbow bolt." His blue eyes were hooded. "Jaiyan, the scars on my back…"

"I know." She leaned forward and kissed him gently. "They don't bother me. I mean, they do because I hate to think of what it must have been like. But I mean that I don't think they're ugly. Because they're not. And you're not."

He laughed helplessly. "I'm not sure that I deserve you."

"Of course you do. Because no else is getting their dirty little hands on you."

His arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her against him. Water slopped up between them, and she spluttered. His skin was slippery against hers, and warm, and deliciously tempting. She tried to press closer, and more water sloshed, splashing over the rim. She shifted again, and her knees bumped the smooth walls of the bath.

"Bed, now," she muttered. "Before we accidentally drown ourselves."

He lifted her and stood in one easy movement. She gripped his shoulders and shrieked. "I never said carry me!"

Valen laughed. He stepped out of the bath, shedding water droplets. With her cradled against his chest and shoulder, he crossed the floor and ignored her twisting against him. "But you're easy to carry."

He dropped her onto the bed, wet hair and water-slicked skin and indignation and all. Before she could say something sardonic, his mouth captured hers and his hands gently swung her arms above her head, pinioning her. Her mind went happily blank, and she found herself unable to care about anything except the feel of his flesh on hers.

Much later, sweating and still trembling, Jaiyan lay in the circle of his arms, already dozing. "Valen?"

"Yes?"

"Will you stay here tonight?"

"You know I will."

She sighed against his shoulder, and smiled when she felt his tail weave around her waist. Her eyes closed properly, and she let sleep claim her, and pull her down into dreams that were free of fear and drow and dripping, dark caves.

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Valen stirred, and slowly realized that he was not in his own room. There was a soft, warm weight pressed against his chest, and he smiled as he looked down. Jaiyan was curled around him, her face half-buried in the crook of his shoulder and snoring quietly. He trailed one hand across her narrow shoulders and down into the dip of her back. She was delicately built, despite her often brash manner, and he found himself enjoying the discovery that he could wrap one hand around both her wrists.

He would have to venture out into the city, and check with Imloth concerning the Valsharess' forces, he knew.

_The survival of the Seer and the rebels depends on it._

But right now, with Jaiyan resting in his arms, peaceful, asleep and somehow so very vulnerable, he did not want to move.

_The city needs you._

_Yes,_ he thought. _But she needs me, as well._

She murmured something inaudible and flopped over. Absently, he touched a thick lock of her hair, kept stroking. Dark brown, and glossy, and warm, he noted. He brushed her hair over his lips and knew that he had to wake her, and explain that he had to leave, had to go to the armoury and the forge, and check the gates and the walls.

_He was the general. He had to be out there._

_But what kind of man leaves his lover?_

He shook himself. _Stop it. This is absurd. You're not _leaving_ her._

"Jaiyan?" He touched her shoulder gently. She muttered something and nestled against his chest. "My lady?"

Her lashes flickered, and those soft blue eyes fixed on him. She smiled, and his heart twisted.

The sane part of his mind wondered why he was so afraid that she would reject him. She was here, now, with him. Lying naked with him in bed, and she had not sent him away. Had not hated him, despite his tiefling blood.

_You hurt her._

_Yes, but she understood, and I did not hurt her after that. _

_You hurt her._

"Valen?"

He blinked. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I…My lady, did I hurt you?"

"What?" Her gaze turned bewildered. "You mean…that last time?"

He nodded silently.

"You're foolish, my tiefling." She cupped his face with both hands. "You did _not_ hurt me. You are not _going_ to hurt me. And even if you do, we can talk about it."

He stared down at her, heard nothing but honesty.

"You don't believe me, do you?" She surged against him, kissing him breathlessly. "Do I have to hit you over the head?"

He shook his head. "My lady, I'm a tiefling."

"I know. The horns are kind of hard to miss."

He saw her irreverent grin, and could not quite return it. "My lady, I…"

"You don't regret this, do you?" Something very like panic flashed across her face. "Valen..?"

"No," he said quickly. "No…but I am worried."

She kissed him again, and he tasted the desperation in her mouth. "Not worried enough to go away, I hope?"

"No." He held her lean, wiry frame in his arms, and realized he wanted nothing more than to stay here, and not acknowledge that there might be a world outside this room at all. "No. Not at all."

"Good." She smirked up at him. "Did you wake me up for a particular reason?"

"I have to see Imloth about the city. And the Seer."

"I know," she said, easily. "I'll come with you."

_Of course she would. _He felt abruptly foolish for thinking anything other. She kissed him, soft and lingering, before ambling out of bed and searching for her discarded clothes. He watched her pull a loose, faded shirt over her head, and swallowed.

_He loved her._

She tugged her leggings on, and fumbled with the laces. He found his gaze wandering up to the swell of her breasts beneath the old shirt, and then to her face, creased in concentration as she wrestled with the buckles on her leathers.

"Jaiyan?"

She looked up, her loose hair framing her face. "Yes?"

He stared at her, at her blue eyes and high cheekbones and those bird-boned, agile hands. The words died in his throat. "Ah…never mind."

She grinned. "Then get dressed so we can go see the Seer. You lying there naked is too tempting."

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The guards at the Seer's doors were grim-faced, and stepped aside briskly. Inside, the incense still burned, and the candles still flickered, but Valen sensed the brittle, waiting tension in the air. The Seer sat with Imloth, and her fingers were locked tightly together in her lap.

"Valen. Jaiyan. Please, sit down."

Her gaze moved across him, and he wondered if she could read his thoughts. Jaiyan sat beside him on the divan, her thigh touching his, and he suppressed the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulders, or maybe clasp her hand.

The Seer's luminous eyes shifted from Jaiyan to the tiefling, and a sudden smile lit her face. "Ah," she said, quietly. "May I…congratulate you both?"

Valen felt heat rush into his face. "Seer, I…"

"Don't tell me gruesome details, I don't wish to know." The Seer's smile widened. "Valen, you're happier than you've been since I met you. It's coming off you in waves."

Imloth laughed. "Now that you've humiliated the general, can we continue?"

"How much time do we have?" Valen asked brusquely.

"The scouts think two days."

"And you think?"

"One," Imloth said. "We have until tomorrow morning, I suspect. Drow move fast, and they move quietly, and numbers won't slow them down."

Valen nodded slowly. He had suspected as much; knew it was coming, in fact. Since he had arrived and pledged himself to the Seer, he had understood that the Valsharess would build her armies to the point where she would attack full-scale. He had seen too many battles and too many sieges during his time as a slave, and harshly knew what to expect. "The soldiers?"

"All have swords and armour."

"The gates?"

"Are working," Imloth said carefully. "They can't approach from the river-side, we know that. So I propose we line the walls with our golem allies, archers behind, and wait."

"They wait too long, they'll get restless." Valen leaned his chin on his hands. "Keep them in check for now. Have scouts out there. I want reports every hour. What are we going to use as an infirmary?"

It was a cold question, but it must be asked.

"The temple," the Seer answered. "Nathyrra is overseeing that."

"Good. Healing potions?"

"I've requested that twenty healers stay to care for any wounded. They have spells and potions." A slight frown crossed the Seer's beautiful face. "And good old-fashioned supplies like needles and bandages."

At some point, Valen knew, the potions would be finished, and the spells would run dry. No healer, however skilled, could call forth that much raw power, for that many injured. He looked at the Seer. "Do you think the Valsharess herself will come?"

"I don't know," the Seer said, softly. "I doubt it. She would not want her followers to think she cared so much for a small outpost of rebels."

"We knew this day would come." Imloth pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers trembling slightly. "Our soldiers know what to do."

"Then remind them," Valen said briskly. "And get some sleep," he added, softer. "We need you rested."

"What are you going to do?" the Seer asked gently.

"Go to the gates," Imloth answered.

"No." The tiefling shook his head. "I don't want you falling off the wall asleep. Stay at the practice grounds if you must, but sleep. I'll take the gates tonight."

Beside him, Jaiyan shifted. "I'll come with you."

Valen stared at her for a long moment. _Of course I want you with me. But I don't want you there if the Valsharess' scouts get here quicker. _"Alright," he said, conceding. "But at the first hint of anything moving out there, I want you behind the walls with Nathyrra."

He expected that she would argue, and was pleasantly shocked when she said nothing.

"Very well." The Seer clasped her dark hands together. "I will remain here. May Eilistraee keep us safe."

Outside the temple, Valen brusquely packed Imloth off to rest. He turned to find Jaiyan observing him with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. "What is it?"

"You," she laughed. "You really would have made a good nursemaid."

Around them, the marketplace was almost deserted, save for the occasional soldier running to the practice fields, or Rizolvir and his apprentices, still working at the forge. The merchant stalls had been cleared, and some moved, supplies hidden inside. More drow ran between the temple and the city proper, laden down with bags full of clinking healing potions, or else ferrying arrows from Rizolvir to the walls.

Beside him, Jaiyan shivered and hugged her arms around herself. She could feel the terse impatience in the air as well as him, he guessed. His skin was prickling, and beneath, his blood sang. Mere hours, and he would be awash with adrenaline and howling all the rage he could summon. There would be blood, and the screams of enemies falling and dying.

_A battle. _

_Not a skirmish, not some paltry fight with a handful of drow in a ravine somewhere. _

_A battle, where the air will taste of blood and your heart will beat so fast it will drown out the drums of the Blood War itself. _

"Valen?"

He snapped back to himself. "Yes..?"

Jaiyan peered up at him. "Are you alright? Your face went…strange."

"I'm fine." He drew in a deep, steadying breath. "Are _you_ alright?"

She nodded, but he could still see the tension in her, the rigid set of her shoulders, and the speckling of sweat at her temples.

"You don't fool me, my lady." He tilted her chin up. "Not for a moment."

She pressed her face against his chest, and clung to him, her fingertips slipping against his armour. He could feel her shaking, and suddenly, fiercely, knew he would do _anything_ to keep her from harm.

He reached down and tipped her face up. She was ashen, and her blue eyes were white-ringed. "Oh, Jaiyan." Not knowing what else to do, he leaned down and kissed her, hard and insistent and lingering. "I will keep you safe," he whispered.

Her hands tangled in his hair, and her tongue curled against his as she responded. "You'd better," she muttered.

He laughed and trailed his lips across her forehead and down onto her cheek. His mouth was poised above hers, and he wondered if he could justify spending the rest of the morning in bed. _No. Preparations to be made. Battles to be planned. Soldiers to organize_. He indulged in another deep kiss and moaned when her fingers wrapped around his horns.

"Boss?"

Jaiyan yelped and lurched away from him. Her cheeks flamed scarlet, and she groaned.

Valen turned, saw Deekin observing them through speculative black eyes.

"Morning, Deeks," she said, unsteadily. "How are you today?"

"Boss." Deekin's gaze flicked briefly to Valen, who was wondering why he too felt abruptly mortified at having been caught kissing in the open by a kobold bard. "Is there something Boss needs to tell Deekin?"


	27. Chapter 27

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven – Attack**_

The false night-time of the Underdark cloaked the city, unsettled and taut with waiting tension. The huge iron-banded gates were locked and barred, and creaked gently. Drow patrolled the high walls, and stood braced behind the towers. Ferron's golems had been in place for hours now, watching the implacable darkness. On the city side of the gates, Jaiyan sat in silence with Valen and Deekin. She had dozed, fitfully, leaning against Valen's chest, and gripping the arm that he wrapped around her waist.

She had woken to the sound of running footsteps, and flinched as one of Valen's scouts hurtled down from the walls.

"General?"

"What is it?"

"The Valsharess…" The scout drew in a trembling breath. "Hours away, sir."

"How many?"

The drow licked at dry lips. "Many thousands."

Jaiyan swallowed hard. She could not even quite _picture_ that many drow, slithering through the rocks and the darkness. "Thousands…?"

"There's six thousand in this city," Valen said quietly. "Not counting the golems." He looked at the drow scout. "Find Commander Imloth."

The scout ducked his head briefly, and then he was running again, bolting into the streets behind.

Jaiyan exhaled slowly. "What do I do?"

Valen pulled her to her feet and stood with his arms draped over her shoulders. "You go to armoury. Take Deekin with you. Nathyrra should be there already. When they get here, I want you to stay behind the walls. Do you understand me?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Even if it takes them twenty-four hours to break the gate, stay _behind_ the walls."

"Where will you be?"

"On top of the walls," he said gently. "You knew that."

She nodded again. "I know, I just…Why can't I come with you?"

He kissed her then, deep and long and slow. "Because I'm not going to let you, and I am not going to argue with you, and I am not going to lose you just because you want to stand on those walls and dodge arrows."

She laughed, unevenly. "You win. This time."

He stared down at her, his pale face all shadowed angles in the torchlight. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say something. "Jaiyan…"

"Yes?"

"Stay alive," he whispered. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Me? What are you talking about?" Her throat felt thick, and her eyes blurred. She blinked rapidly. "I never do anything stupid."

"Only very occasionally." His mouth covered hers again, and she tasted heat and salt. "I need you to go to the armoury now," he said gently.

She stepped out of his arms, and ached. _I don't want to go. But what the hells do you know about directing the defense of city gates and walls? _

"Valen?"

"Yes?"

She gazed up in his eyes, half-convinced already that she was getting her last look at him. She shook her head. "Take care."

She turned away from him, and tried to ignore her thundering pulse, and the feeling that her skin was hot and prickling. _Don't cry. You're all grown-up, apparently. Don't cry_. _He'll be fine. He knows what he's doing._

_Yes, but what about you?_

Deekin walked beside her, and she felt his small hand slip into hers. She squeezed back fiercely, and breathed in deeply, trying to clear her thoughts. She could still taste Valen, and the warmth of him, and she wanted nothing more than to run back to the gates and fling her arms around him.

All the way across the square, they did not speak, and she did not let go of Deekin's hand. At the armoury, they found the doors open, and the inside chambers thronged with drow. Rizolvir shouted orders nearby, calling for soldiers to pick up arrows and armour, and take boxes of crossbow bolts to the walls.

Rizolvir looked up, his dark face ribboned with sweat, and his expression terse. "Jaiyan," he said, clipped and brisk. "The general said he'd be sending you down. Got a present for you, in the other room."

She wove through the drow, who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing, and were doing it quietly and quickly. _Well, they did grow up surrounded by violence, I suppose_. But still, as she darted between two lithe drow females, she felt horribly out-of-place, clumsy even. This was to be a drow battle, in a drow city, and here she stood, a lost-looking surfacer girl whose only claim to battle fame had been that skirmish with forty or so bandits, and nearly as many mercenaries at her back.

In the smaller adjoining chamber, she stepped past racks of spears and found a table with a wrapped bundle. She slipped open the twine knots, and discovered the gleaming length of a chainmail shirt. "Is this right?" she called back.

"Chain shirt." Rizolvir appeared at the doorway. "General said to make you wear it."

She groaned. "I don't wear chain shirts."

"He said you'd say that."

"It's going to be too heavy."

"He said you'd say that, too." Rizolvir reached past her, unfurled the chain links. The metal was delicate and burnished, gleaming in the candlelight. "This is lighter than the stuff you surfacers drape yourselves in. It's built for drow assassins when they have to fight with regular soldiers, gives them more protection. It's your size, so wear it or I'll have the general after me."

She grinned and picked up the shirt. It did, she admitted, feel beautifully light. "I'm still not swimming any rivers in this."

"Hopefully you won't have to." Rizolvir inclined his head. "Nathyrra's upstairs gearing up her soldiers. I'll send her down to you once she's finished."

Left alone with Deekin and the weapon racks, she shed her weapons and belt and unrolled the mail shirt over her shoulders. It fell to mid-thigh and mid-arm, and felt curiously muffling. Even so, she appreciated the artistry in it, the way the tight silver links meshed and glowed.

"Boss?"

She buckled her belt around the chain shirt. "What is it?"

"Deekin gots present for you, as well."

"Really?" She balanced her sword at one hip, and the dagger at the other. "Is it my birthday and I didn't notice?"

"Nope. Not Boss's birthday until the spring." Deekin rummaged in his packs and produced a single potion bottle, unlabeled, and clear.

"Ah…what's in this?" A few awkward and embarrassing moments at Hilltop had taught her to always ensure that she _knew_ what was in the arcane concoction she was about to drink.

"Oh…it be something to help Boss." Deekin scuffed his feet against the floor.

"Yes, but what _is_ it?"

"Well…" Deekin stared at some indistinct point past her shoulder. "Boss knows how Boss and Goat-man are…"

"Yes," she said quickly.

"…so Deekin thought Boss might want this. Because Deekin thinks Boss not want small demon babies. Not yet, anyway."

She stared down at the potion for a long moment. "Oh! Oh…right. Thanks, Deeks. Very…thoughtful. Thank you. Ah…how long does it last?"

"Oh, a while. But Deekin can make more."

She drank the potion, and noted that it tasted of nearly nothing, and was cool and crisp. "Hang on…Deeks, did you make this today?"

"Nope."

"But we didn't…I mean, when did you make this?"

"Oh, um…after Deekin's song."

She stared sharply at his innocuous expression. "How did you know?"

"Boss not be subtle, you know. Goat-man be even less subtle."

"Deekin, you still surprise me." She opened her mouth to say more, but Nathyrra stepped through the doorway, enviably elegant in tight-fitting leathers and bristling with daggers.

"Are you ready?" the drow asked.

She nodded and gulped down another breath. "Yes. I think so."

Nathyrra tipped her head on one side, gave her a raking look. "Valen asked me to give you these."

Jaiyan caught the small bag the drow tossed to her. Inside, she found rogue stones, round and gleaming. "Oh…Deeks, did you bring the relic?"

Deekin patted one of his packs. "Sure did, Boss."

"It's a conspiracy." She tied the pouch to her belt, and tried to will away her last memory of the tiefling, of how he had held her. "A conspiracy to keep me alive."

Nathyrra arched her eyebrows. "And that's a problem?"

Jaiyan shrugged moodily. "So where do we go now?"

"Back outside to wait." Nathyrra observed her through wry crimson eyes. "So…how was it?"

"_What?_"

The drow smiled. "Jaiyan, my dear, your kobold wasn't the only one to see you and Valen…indulging yourselves outside the temple."

"What? But…the marketplace was empty."

"Drow move like slippery shadows, Boss."

Jaiyan shook her head sourly. "I was right. Everyone in this misbegotten city _is_ following me around."

A horn sounded somewhere close by, clear and sharp. Nathyrra's expression hardened, and Jaiyan knew what it meant.

"They're here."

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On the walls, Valen paced. Lined up in gleaming ranks, the golems waited, gazing out into the gloom. Behind him, drow archers fidgeted with their bows and shuffled their feet against the stone. The horn had sounded, and another scout had come barreling in, gasping news that the Valsharess' forces were but a hairsbreadth away.

But, staring into the darkness, he could see nothing. Only the twisting shapes of stalactites and the rounder lumps of boulders, and the unbroken blackness of the Underdark.

"Where are you?" he muttered.

"Right here," Imloth answered genially from behind him. "Still nothing?"

"No." His tail lashed. "Nothing at all."

The torchlight along the walls flickered, throwing pools of orange light into the shadows. Imloth scanned the gloom, his eyes narrowing. "Look over by those boulders."

Valen followed his gaze, saw nothing. He scowled. "I see boulders."

"Keep looking." Very carefully, Imloth drew an arrow, nocked it to the string.

Valen peered, and then he saw them. Huddled against the rocks, blending in, black on black. Hooded and cloaked, and moving as if cut from the tapestry of the night itself, drow assassins glided towards the city walls. "Oh, Gods. There's dozens of them."

"And the rest will be waiting behind."

_This is how drow fight_, Valen remembered grimly. _Like two great shadows that meet and clash, then melt away again._

"Archers," he called out. "Draw."

Strings pulled taut, and two hundred arrows pointed at the approaching drow. For a long, silent moment, Valen held on, sweating beneath his armour. He wanted to launch forward, leap off the wall even. Plunge down into the drow assassins and cleave them apart, leave them trying to breathe through their own blood.

"Wait," he cautioned. "_Wait._"

The drow assassins slid further forward, and he saw the torchlight glint off drawn knives and swords. Some of them carried arbalests, and still others balanced ladders between them. He looked past them, and saw that the flat plain circling the city was thick with drow. _How do they move so quietly?_

They crossed the distance to the gates, rippling over the ground, slipping soundlessly across bare rock.

"Fire! Now!"

A volley of arrows whined through the air, slicing down onto the drow below. Some fell, skewered through shoulder or chest or stomach, clawing at blood-soaked leathers as they toppled. More arrows bit into the ground, or skidded against the rock, or skimmed against the drow and clipped off armour and helmets. Another salvo rattled down, and more drow dropped. Those behind did not react, simply kept spilling forward, making for the walls.

"Again! Keep them away from the gate!"

A hail of black shafts cloaked the area nearest the gates, and drow fell in pairs or threes, tramped under by those marching behind. Valen looked through the seething mass below, saw the iron-banded battering ram twelve of them carried. "Take them down!"

Four of them fell, pinioned through the neck and chest, but more rose to balance the battering ram.

_There's too many of them. They'll get through. The gates will fall. _

_You already knew that._

Drow soldiers surged up to the wall, slamming the ladders against the stone. Arrows sheeted down, knocking them away from the ladders. More ran into place, launching up the ladders and towards the walls.

"Again! Keep on them!" Valen turned, tail whipping, and looked to Ferron.

Braced against the walls, the golems waited, poised to take down the drow once they reached the top of the ladders.

The whine of woken magic cut through the chaos. Valen spun around and cursed when he saw a drow wizard, arms spread out wide, near the gates. White light exploded from the wizard's stiff hands, and the drow on the walls screamed. Lightning bolts seared across them, reducing flesh and leather to charcoal. More followed, scorching a deadly pattern across the walls, dancing between drow soldiers and cooking them inside their armour.

Valen flung himself to one side, and a lightning bolt dazzled overhead. "_Imloth!_"

Imloth rolled under another white flare, came to his knees and sighed on the wizard. He drew the string back to his jaw and fired.

Mid-incantation, with his hands still sizzling with magic, the drow wizard keeled over, the arrow buried in his throat.

Valen straightened up in time to see the first drow soldiers launch off the ladders and onto the walls. The golems met them, bringing huge metal fists around in response to whirling swords and daggers. But these drow were assassins, and moved like flame. They darted around the golems, striking from behind and with slim blades that were barely seen in the darkness. The golems followed, lumbering, but the drow were faster, dangerously agile.

Valen growled. He could see the field before the gates, and the sheer numbers, and knew the golems were in trouble.

In one motion he had Devil's Bane unsheathed, and two more long steps took him into the fray.

He spun at the nearest drow, and the flail heads ripped through her throat. Not stopping to think, embracing the pounding in his head, Valen turned and kept moving. He wove through the drow, using his elbows and feet to knock them back when he was an inch too slow with the flail.

_There's a lot of them. _

_Yes, but you're good at this._

He whirled again, slammed the haft against the side of one drow's head, and turned in time to meet the next two. He raked the flail through one's chest, and blood sprayed, coating his breastplate. The smell of it invaded his head, and he growled again. He turned again, meeting the onrush of a group of drow as they leaped off the nearest ladder. He swept under the sword-thrust of the first, decapitated the second, and drove his elbow into the third's chest. Still moving, he spun back to the first and crashed the flail against the drow's head. The third dived around him, and he felt the sting of a blade against the back of his leg. He twisted round, smashed the weapon aside, and turned the drow's head into crimson pulp.

"Valen!" A hand came down on his arm, gripping tightly.

He snarled and turned, prepared to lash out.

"Valen, it's me." Imloth grasped his forearm hard. "Lower the flail."

Arrows whirred through the air, arcing down onto the attacking drow. In response, others sliced up from the ground, cutting into the soldiers on the walls, or peppering against the golems.

Valen gritted his teeth. His hand was locked around his flail. He _knew _Imloth, _knew_ he was a friend. _So lower the flail,_ his thoughts raged. "What is it?" he grated.

Two arrows blurred past and bit into the stone. "Look," Imloth said, jerking his chin at the heaving mass of drow below.

Valen followed his gaze, and his heart wrenched when he saw the heavy siege engines, being heaved and pulled through the battlefield. Huge arbalests, on wheels and big enough that eight drow were needed to steer them. Catapults, laden with rocks chopped from the walls of the Underdark itself.

"They're going to crush us," Valen muttered. "Where in the hells is Gulrhys?"

"In the temple, making healing potions, like you asked."

"Send a runner. I want him up here. And anyone else who can throw a spell." He stared at the drow below, saw at least six more wizards, standing well back out of arrow range. "_Anyone_."

"What about Deekin?"

"The kobold?" Just behind him, a golem drove one fist against a drow's head, sending him spiraling off the ladder. "No," he said, quietly. "She needs him."

Imloth said nothing. "Alright. Try not to lose the city while I'm gone."

Watching him bolt down the stairs, Valen did not quite have the heart to snap a waspish reply. Not when the gates shook as the battering ram drove against them, and another hail of arrows scythed down on the walls.

_We don't have the numbers,_ he thought desperately. _We never had the numbers. Even if we hold them off, they'll break the gate, and then we'll be overwhelmed. _

"Fire again," he shouted. "Take them down!"

An arrow screamed past his face. He turned and threw himself at the nearest ladder. With his flail whirring about his head, he tore into the drow charging up it, and cut them down in turn. His knee throbbed from an awkward roll, and he was aware that his forehead had been sliced open at some point. Blood snaked past his eyes, tracking down his cheek.

Something huge and on fire screeched past the walls, and he winced when he saw the spell impact against the gates. Wood buckled and fell apart, snapping with flame. The battering ram shoved on, breaking through the burning wood, and into the passageway beyond.

_The gates are gone. _

He turned, looked down to the regiments stationed on the city side of the walls. He scanned them quickly, but could not see Jaiyan. _How hard should it be to spot someone with brown hair amid hundreds of drow? _

_Where is she? Is she alright?_

Another fireball roared overhead, smashing into one of the towers. Embers billowed, and he heard screams. He crouched and stared down, and his gaze finally lit on her, near the gates, standing with Nathyrra and Deekin.

_Get away from the gates. _

_I need to be there with her. Get her away from the gates.  
_

But he had to stay here, to hold them on the walls. He ground his teeth and turned back in time to see another load of drow sprinting up the ladder. On both sides of him, the golems were grasping the ends of the ladders, lifting them up and away from the walls, and hurling them back down to the drow below. More spells glowed in the corner of his vision, and great sheets of white light rippled across the walls. He spun furiously, and shredded his way through four drow in as many heartbeats. Breathing hard, with gore dripping from his flail, he turned again and glanced down.

He could see her, flanked on all sides by drow. Further ahead, the Valsharess's followers were pushing their way through the flaming wreckage of the gates.

_There's far too many of them. She'll die. _

_You don't know that._

A fireball screamed past him, slamming into the crenulations and exploding. Another swift look down showed him drow crawling past smouldering wood, and reaching the passageway on the other side.

_She'll die._

He charged through another group of drow, mowing them down with flail and elbows and feet. Blood showered as he ripped the flail through one drow's stomach, and the familiar smell of broken skin and bleeding flesh filled his nose and mouth. Some part of him wanted to throw the flail away, to set into them with his hands and teeth.

_Stop_, he thought desperately. _Hold yourself together. _

A hand locked around his wrist, and he glowered down at Imloth. "_What?_"

"Stay with me," Imloth said quietly. "Don't go jumping off the wall or anything equally insane."

Valen blinked, tried to clear his clouding vision. "Gulrhys?"

"Is doing what he does best." Imloth nodded down the wall, to where the drow wizard stood, arms upraised, calling a swirl of crackling lightning above his head.

"The gates are gone."

"I know."

"I need…" Valen shook his head. "Jaiyan is down there."

"You knew the gates wouldn't last." Imloth did not let go of his wrist. "You stay here. Don't you dare argue – I need you here. I'll go down."

Valen growled. "Let her come to harm, and so help me I'll…"

"…Do something terrible to me, I know." Imloth's grip loosened. "Stay here and keep them off the walls. If they all funnel through the gates, we can cut them down."

With that, Imloth was gone, melting back through the soldiers on the wall, and vaulting down the steps. Valen dragged his gaze away from the destroyed gates, and tried to focus on the ladders. Most of them had been snapped and shoved away by the golems, but the drow bulled forward, slamming more ladders up, and scuttling up them.

He wanted to follow Imloth. He bit back frustration and anger and slammed his flail into the drow that leaped off the ladder, hard enough to tear half his head away. He flipped the weapon and thrust the half into the next drow's throat, and pushed him off the ladder when he choked. _Keep going. Don't think. _

_Don't think about her._

One wrong thought, and he knew he would be lurching down the steps to save her.

_Which you absolutely cannot do, not when you have to stay here._

An arrow whirred past, clipped his knee. His leg gave way briefly, and he snarled. The pain was small, inconsequential, and could be held on one side. He straightened up, and kept moving, heading for the nearest tower. The stone there was scorched and black, and heat waves rolled off it. His soldiers flanked it, trying desperately to hold their own against the attacking drow, while arrows sliced in overhead, and spells buckled the air around them.

A lightning bolt slashed at the tower, taking out chunks of stone. Valen hurled himself into the fray, throwing himself between his drow and those scrambling up the ladders. The flail spun out, impacting against leather and skin, and tearing through flesh. The rhythm of violence was so simple, so understandable, and he found himself letting himself fall utterly into it. Every way he turned, there was a foe to be brought to their knees, a throat to be ripped open, and blood to be spilled. He heard screams, and the drone of magic, searing against soldiers and stone alike. His heart beat hard and fast beneath his armour, and he barely felt the sweat that soaked his hair.

There were no questions, and no concern, and no wonderings; only the truth of the flail in his hand, and the blood that hissed against the stone.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight – Siege **_

Imloth reached the last step. He heard the whooshing sound of huge fireball spells, and the crunch of breaking stone. He dived into the press of drow soldiers near the gates, could already hear the clash of weapons as the Valsharess' troops pushed their way through the burning wreckage. Breathing hard, he ducked a thrown knife, eeled his way past Nathyrra, and found Jaiyan. With her brown hair braided off her pale face, he thought she may as well have had one of his archery targets roped to her back.

She was pressed to the wall, cheeks dappled with sweat, and her sword up. "Jaiyan!" Imloth grasped her elbow, spun her around. "Stay away from the gate!"

"I'm not near the gate!"

Some blinding spell trailing hot embers arced overhead, and he shoved her against the wall. "They'll come through that gate by the dozen. _Promise _me you'll stay back."

She glared at him. "Aren't I meant to be saving this city?"

"You can't do that if you're skewered to the wall," he snapped. "How do you think I'm going to explain things to the Seer if that happens?"

A drow tumbled off the parapet above, stuck through the chest with four arrows. Her fierce stare did not waver. "Have you seen Valen?"

"Last I saw, he was decimating the entire regiment attacking the walls by himself."

She grabbed his wrist, tight enough to hurt. "Imloth. Is he alright?"

"He's fine." He was about to say more, but the drow soldiers braced at the corner cried out. He swore and spun his sword. "Here they come. Stay with me."

The whine of unleashed magic scorched the air again, and heat rushed through the ruined gate. Flame licked out, brushing the edges of stone walls and engulfing the defenders trapped nearest the wreckage.

Imloth turned, shielding Jaiyan again as the gush of heat rolled past. He heard the screams, and the smell of charred flesh revolted him. _There were twenty-five soldiers at that gate,_ he thought frantically. _Twenty-five!_

_There was no time left._

He heard their footfalls first, booted feet barely touching the stone, moving around lumps of charcoal that had once been soldiers he _knew_. Then, shadow-quiet, he saw the first of them, clad head to toe in black, whorled armour. Red swirls painted on the shoulders and forearms, and red jewels in their tied-back hair. Without stopping to think, his nose full of the stink of burned skin, he launched at them.

He carved through two of them before his thoughts caught up with him. Vaguely aware of Nathyrra on one side, and Jaiyan behind him, he slashed his sword across another drow's neck and ducked the crimson spray. The ground was slippery with gore, and every breath he took tasted of ash and blood.

_Bottle-neck them_, he thought madly. He whirled, knocked the blade from his attacker's hand, and plunged his sword in between the other drow's segmented armour. He yanked, and his sword caught on the dead soldier's armour. A crossbow bolt flew past his ear, embedding in another drow's skull, toppling him. Somewhere behind him, he heard the kobold bard chanting.

Imloth wrenched at the blade again, and it pulled free with a wet slither. A shadow swooped across him, and he spun quickly. His upraised sword met his opponent's, twisted, and locked. To his left, he saw another drow, bleeding from a deep cut above one eye, lunging in towards his side.

He landed a square kick in the first drow's chest, and was about to throw himself at the second when a knife flashed past him and buried in the second drow's throat. He finished the first attacker before turning to see Nathyrra. "Good timing," he grated.

Nathyrra smirked before melting away again, flickering between the assailing drow, two more knives in her hands.

He turned again, saw Jaiyan hard-pressed by four drow. She was holding them off, but her face was sheened with sweat, and he knew they would wear her down. He slammed his pommel into the back of one's head, and drove the blade between his shoulders as he went down. While she swung her attention to two of them, he took on the third.

The drow launched at him, curved swords in both hands. He barred the swing of the first, tried to ram his elbow against his opponent's jaw, and was too slow. The second sword arced around gracefully, and Imloth cried out as the blade raked across his side. Another rapid motion, and he was beaten back four paces, his head ringing from a sharp blow to his temple. The flat of one sword slapped across his shoulder, and the point of the second sketched a long, jagged line across his cheek, down onto his throat.

Imloth snarled. _Don't toy with me. Kill me or ignore me, don't toy with me._

He smashed both swords out of the way, punched the soldier in the mouth, and kicked out at his left wrist when he staggered. Following up, he forced his sword into the flesh just beneath the other drow's collarbone, and down.

He straightened up in time to see Jaiyan finishing her pair of drow. She spun underneath the remaining soldier's down-swept blade, came up on his left side, and opened his throat with one thrust.

Imloth nodded to her, quietly appreciative. Overhead, some massive spell roared, and the towers above the gates swayed and shook. Cracks burst through the huge stone blocks, and he heard hurtling footsteps. Praying that Valen and the golems could hold the walls, he fixed his attention on the ruined gates again.

More drow already seethed through, jumping over broken bodies to crash into the defenders. Crossbow bolts whirred past Imloth, took out three drow in quick succession. Sputtering acid spells followed, burrowing into the throats of the next two across the debris. Something heavy punched into the last bits of wood still hanging from the arch, and he recognized the huge bolts usually loaded into arbalests.

"Get down!" He threw himself against the wall, dragging Jaiyan along with him. She turned and screamed at the kobold to keep his head down.

Another two arbalest bolts slammed through the debris, hitting the corners of the walls and raising dust and bits of stone.

The prospect of holding the archway while dodging volleys of bolts big enough to impale a beholder did not thrill Imloth.

More drow appeared, darting through the smouldering remains of the gate. He gritted his teeth and dived out at them. He heard the sharp snap of twine releasing, and flung himself to the ground. A bolt roared over his head, skidded against the ground somewhere. He rolled up to his feet, cat-quick, and realised he was far too close to the drow soldier he had targeted.

He recoiled away, tried to bring his sword round. Before he could lash out, the drow toppled, a crossbow bolt from Imloth's side of the arch sunk between his eyes.

"Imloth!" Nathyrra's voice was strained. "Arrows!"

Without thinking, he pressed flat against the wall. White-fletched arrows sheeted down around them, rattling against stone and wood and the dead alike. Plunging into the drow struggling through the archway, slaughtering them as easily as the defenders lined along the base of the walls.

Jaiyan was still beside him, her breathing ragged. One cheekbone was purple with bruises, and blood showed through a deep gash across her lower left arm.

Unable to move as the arrows thundered down, and his soldiers screamed around him, Imloth gripped Jaiyan's wrist. "Stay there!"

She gazed at the black hail of arrows, rigid. All around them, drow shrieked. Three more tumbled off the walls above, came crashing down onto the carnage below. An arrow clipped the wall beside Imloth's ear, bounced away. Another thudded against the stone right by his knee, while a third whistled past close enough to snap against his sword-point and judder away.

Beside him, Nathyrra screamed. In one quick motion, he sheathed his sword and caught her as she swayed. She sagged against him, and he saw the arrow buried just above her collarbone. He smelled the copper scent of her blood, and he heard her whimper. "Hold on," he muttered. "Just wait til they run out."

He felt Nathyrra's breath come hard and fast against his face, and he worried about the angle of the arrow. "Stay with me," he snapped. "Stay with me!"

She looked up at him, grey with pain. More arrows came clattering down, and he held her tighter against him. Two white-feathered shafts snicked against the stone near his head, and another thumped into the wall between his shoulder and Jaiyan's.

For a long, terrible moment, he stood there, unable to move, to do _anything._ Except hold Nathyrra and listen to her uneven breathing, and watch the black arrows come down.

_You have no idea what's going on up on the walls. For all you know, everyone up there's already pinned to the ground. _

_No. They were firing _over _the walls. At us. _

The hail of arrows lessened, and he held his breath. _They're tricking us. They want us to move._

He looked around, saw his surviving soldiers still pressed against the wall. He motioned with one hand for them to stay put. _They're waiting for us to move. _

But no more arrows fell, and he heard only the crash and thump of spells slamming down on the walls above.

"Jaiyan?"

She turned, and paled when she saw Nathyrra. "Is she..?"

"I need you to take her to the temple," he said briskly.

"But…"

"Don't argue." Carefully, he eased Nathyrra around him. "Take her to the temple and get her healed."

Jaiyan nodded. Her gaze jumped to the space between the walls and the city proper; littered with burning debris, arrows and the dead.

"Thank you." He leaned Nathyrra against her, helped her balance the injured drow. "Take her to the Seer." He listened, could hear nothing past the clang of weapons and the sound of running feet above. "Take her there now. Quickly."

He saw Jaiyan's face change, slide into that familiar determined expression he had seen before. With Nathyrra propped up against her, she cautiously headed out, away from the walls, weaving through the rubble.

He leaned back against the cool stone. His hair was in his eyes, and he impatiently pushed the thick white strands away. _Is this what you wanted, when you joined the Seer? Facing imminent death in a small city so far from everything that no one will know or care if it falls? _

The Valsharess had once been a Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan, he knew. _Who would care that a powerful Matron had crushed a handful of rebellious serfs?_

_But the Seer swore…swore Eilistraee would protect us. Keep us safe._

Imloth growled and tightened his grip on his sword. He had often wondered if his announced faith was more to do with living a life less chained by violence, than any true belief. His soul might have wanted to believe in some benevolent moon-haired Goddess, but his heart believed in his sword, and the strength of his soldiers around him.

_The same soldiers now lying dead where the gates used to be._

A huge bolt slammed through the archway, whisking through the air in front of his face. Footsteps followed, faster this time, pounding over the blood-slicked stone. Gripping his sword, Imloth pulled away from the wall, and turned to face the next onrush of enemies.

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The ground beneath her feet reeked of smoke. Terrified that every step jolted the arrow deeper into Nathyrra's body, she tried to walk and half-lift the drow up at the same time. She could hear the roar and chaos of the battle behind her, and some part of her wanted to turn and look. To see if she could see Valen on the walls, turning with his flail, screaming defiance at the drow. 

_Anything_ to prove that he was still breathing.

Nathyrra groaned, and she slowed her pace. The roof of the temple seemed too far away, the noise of the carnage behind too close. She could still hear the screech of arrows and the _whumping_ noise of fireballs ploughing into stone towers.

_This is not what I thought would happen._ She bit her lip and carried on, eyes pinned on the spires of the temple ahead. More wounded were on the ground here, some watched over, some alone and staring into the darkness above. Drow soldiers ferried weapons to the walls, or helped carrying the injured to the temple.

_Well, what did you think happens in a battle?_

She remembered Drogan, his voice rough and almost prosaic, instructing her amid the new fall of the winter's snow.

_"Missy, every fight's almost the same, just bigger or smaller. People get hurt, or they survive. There's blood every time. Just how much of it depends on how many souls are involved."_

_Yes,_ she thought. _But _seeing_ the blood of this many people…_

_"You remember that time I ordered you off with Carrin and his gang?"_

Even now, two and a bit years later, she recalled; she and Xanos had been packed off with Carrin and his current mercenary band. Eighteen strong, all bluff, hardened adventurers. _And me and Xanos¸_ she remembered, almost smiling. The task had been deceptively simple; find a bandit hideout, eliminate them, and haul back any loot to be found.

_Except there had been forty odd bandits._

She had returned with a limp and scrape along the ribs and a bruised jaw; Xanos had suffered a severe blow to his head and his ego.

And even now, she recalled the stench and sheer _amount_ of blood and spilled innards. _Forty bandits, all cut down and slaughtered_, she thought. Enough that it seemed the bandit chief's rooms had been painted scarlet.

The hideously familiar sound of wooden shafts rattling down against stone broke into her reverie, and she twisted her head around. Rising up over the wall like some terrible black rain, more arrows hailed down. Arcing up over the towers and the walls themselves, slicing down over the beleaguered defenders inside the walls as they surged to protect the ruined gates.

_Imloth_. For a heartbeat longer, she watched the arrows fall, then shook herself. She could do little, standing and observing. Ahead, the temple doors were open, torchlight pouring out.

She guided Nathyrra on, aware of the hot blood she could feel seeping through the drow's leathers. She helped her up the steps, and into the warm glow of soft torches, and the unexpected smell of incense.

Clerics and healers fussed over the injured, some lying writhing on pallets, bleeding from terrible, gaping wounds. Others slumped almost silently, their crimson eyes fixed on the curves of the ceiling. Beneath the incense, Jaiyan tasted fear, and blood, and the sweat of sickness.

She walked Nathyrra past two twisting drow, wrapped in bloodstained bandages and gripping the edges of their pallets. Past a frazzled-looking cleric, she found the Seer, still elegant despite the blood that patched her sleeves, and the sweat that glistened on her steep cheekbones. "Seer?"

The Seer's head turned, and her face crumpled. "Oh, _Nathyrra…_" She beckoned Jaiyan over. "Lie her down here."

She gently maneuvered the drow to the pallet indicated, and laid her down. Nathyrra twisted, and her hands wrapped around Jaiyan's wrists. Blood leaked down the front of her leathers, welling around the shaft. "Stay still," Jaiyan murmured. "We need to get you healed."

The Seer knelt on the drow's other side, and spread her hands over the wound. "Jaiyan," she said, softly. "I need you to help me."

She crouched behind Nathyrra's wounded shoulder, and swallowed. The shaft was sunk in deep, lodged at an odd angle.

"Hold the arrow," the Seer instructed. "And when I tell you, I want you to pull it out."

_I'm not a physician, _she thought frantically. _I'm likely to do more harm than good._ But she could hear the clamour of battle even from here, and what else could she do?

She clasped the feathered end of the arrow and tried not to look at the blood beneath it. The Seer's hands stiffened, and glowed. White light sank into Nathyrra's body, and the drow's head flung back.

"Now," the Seer said.

Jaiyan half-closed her eyes, sent a quick prayer to Tymora, and pulled. The shaft slid out, and blood followed, thick and dark. The Seer moved, pressed wadded bandages against the gaping hole. "Hold this down."

While Jaiyan pressed the cloth over the bleeding wound, the Seer muttered some sibilant invocation. Her hands glowed again, and the magic surged into Nathyrra's prone body.

"Will she be alright?"

The Seer glanced up. "I hope so," she said. "The arrow missed her lung, but right now she is weak. I need you to sit with her, and make her drink these." The Seer handed her two healing potions. "It is all we can spare."

Jaiyan swallowed, and tasted ash. All she could hear were the cries of the wounded, and the waiting silence of the dying, and she wanted suddenly to bolt out through the doors. "How many so far?"

The Seer's eyes softened. "Too many. How are you faring?"

Jaiyan shifted, said nothing.

A gentle smile curved the drow woman's lips. "There is nothing wrong in worrying."

_I'm not worrying. I'm petrified._

Jaiyan opened her mouth to speak, but running shadows flickered across the open doorway. Pelting footsteps followed, along with raised voices. Something big thumped into the side of the temple, and the stone groaned.

"I have to go." Jaiyan pushed up to her feet, but the Seer clasped her wrist.

"Stay," the drow woman implored. "Stay and help me in here."

"I thought I was meant to save your city, not hide in the corner!"

Another rumble tore through the temple. The sound of meeting swords and screams was closer. "You will be no saviour if you are dead."

"Is _that_ what Eilistraee wants? Me to hide away so your prophecy can come true?"

The Seer pulled her close, and she saw the steel in those luminous eyes. "If you die, this city will fall. I _know_ that. So you will stay in here and help me, and stay alive."

"And if they break through?"

"Then may Eilistraee help us."

Jaiyan laughed, brittle. "What about Valen?"

The Seer paused for no more than a heartbeat. "He means a lot to you."

_I love him_. The thought burst unbidden into her mind. "Yes," she said.

"I have never…" The Seer shook her head. "I am sorry. There are many more here who require my attention."

"Of course." Jaiyan tried to keep the savage edge from her tone, and almost failed. "I'll stay with Nathyrra."

While the Seer glided away, moving between the wounded like some pale-haired ghost, Jaiyan crouched beside the injured drow. "Nathyrra?"

The drow's head turned, and she licked at dry lips. "I'm alive," she said, wryly.

"How do you feel?"

"Embarrassed."

Jaiyan smiled. "I forgive you."

Nathyrra blinked slowly. "Do you hear that?"

_No,_ Jaiyan thought. But then a vast fireball slammed into the temple, and she felt the rush of heat, even inside. The stones tremble, and she saw the orange glow of fire through the open door.

"Lith My'athar is burning," Nathyrra murmured. "I always knew it would."

Jaiyan brushed the drow's sweat-sticky hair away from her forehead. "Then why did you come here?"

The drow laughed. "Have you ever been to Menzoberranzan?"

Something hard slammed against the wall, just beside the door. Jaiyan jerked to her feet. The healers and clerics were turning, gazing at the open door through white-ringed eyes. Voices and cries spilled through the doorway. Flame tore across the stone outside, and the temple shook.

"Will you be alright?"

Nathyrra crooked an eyebrow. "I'm fine. Lying down, taking a rest…will _you_ be alright?"

Jaiyan drew her sword. "I'll be fine." Her throat felt tight, and her pulse hammered. Not able to look down at Nathyrra again, she reached the doorway, and stared out into heat and desolation.

Flame roared across the roofs and lines and spires of the city. Fireballs arced in overhead, smashing into wood and bursting apart. Heavy bolts from huge arbalests pounded into the sides of buildings. Drow ran between the temple and the armoury and the walls, some taken off their feet by spells or hails of black arrows. The walls themselves were rippling with attacking soldiers as they spilled up siege ladders and onto the crenelations.

Jaiyan stared, and felt leaden all over. _Don't move. Run back inside. _

_Run back inside…to what?_

Another fireball whooshed past her and thumped into the temple. This time, great chunks of stone fell, smouldering. Another hit the temple, and another, and she wondered if the whole building would cave in, awash with flame. Lightning speared off the towers on the walls, and the curved rock above flared.

A hand grasped hers, and she gasped.

"Come back inside," the Seer said, quietly.

"The city's falling!"

"Not yet." The Seer steered her back to the door. "Listen to me. I know you want to go out there. I know you want to find him."

Jaiyan stared wildly at her.

"Come back inside."

"No, I…" She dragged an unsteady breath down. She could make out no detail on the walls, only the seething mass of black-clad drow vaulting onto the crenelations. "Seer, I…"

"Jaiyan," the Seer said, incisive. "You are no help to this city, to these people, or to him, if you are dead."

_But what if he's dead already? What am I meant to do? Wait to find out? _She swallowed hard. _Stay here. It's what he'd want. Come on. Stay here. _"Alright," she said, unsteadily. "You win."

Unable to say anything more, she followed the Seer back into the temple, and listened while the spells thudded into the temple, and drow soldiers died outside, and Lith My'athar burned.


	29. Chapter 29

_A huge thank you to everyone who's following this, and the usual disclaimer - nothing belongs to me except Jaiyan._

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine – Retreat**_

Jaiyan knelt at the side of a slender drow soldier. His chest was torn open, and blood gushed in gouts onto the floor. She had tried to stem the bleeding with thick wads of clean cotton, but the wound was deep and ugly. Under her hands, the drow breathed shallowly, his crimson eyes half-closed. The last healing potion had been drained fast enough, and the nearest cleric was two pallets away, bending over a soldier who had just lost an arm.

"Oh, Gods." Jaiyan pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

Thin fingers touched her arm. "You're her," the drow whispered.

"What?"

"The Seer's saviour."

She swallowed. _Some saviour_. "That's right," she said. She mopped away more blood and tied off the bandages. Orange light flared through the doorway, and she heard the stones creak. overhead. She looked up, saw dust cascading down from the carved arches above.

Something big and solid thumped into the temple walls near the door. Another tremor rumbled through the entire structure. Jaiyan pushed to her feet, stepped around puddles of blood and moaning drow. She found the Seer attending to a young drow girl who was flat on her front, two arrows bristling from her shoulders.

"We have to get out of here," she snapped.

The Seer looked at her. Her hands and cuffs were dark with blood, and her hair was spattered red. "What are you saying?"

For uncounted hours, fireballs had pounded into the temple. The stones felt warm to the touch, and the air inside was seared and tasted of smoke. "This temple is about to come down," Jaiyan hissed. "One hit in one wrong place, and every piece of stone in here will fall like a stack of cards."

The Seer blinked slowly. "But…there are hundreds in here…"

"Then we move them. And we start now." Jaiyan drew in a deep breath. "What's the next biggest building here?"

"The old palace," suggested a cleric.

"It's gone," the Seer murmured.

"Then the tavern," Jaiyan said. "Send runners over, clear the trestles and benches. Use the rooms upstairs if we have to."

The Seer stared at her through a frail, uncertain moment. The cleric at her shoulder nodded, and spoke quickly. "Alright. I'll find soldiers."

The Seer gripped Jaiyan's wrist. The drow woman's hand felt clammy and shook. "Will this work?"

"I don't know," Jaiyan said honestly. "But I do think they'll all die if they stay in here."

As if proving some grim point, another spell crashed into the temple, and the stones shifted. Not quite able to look at the Seer's brimming eyes, she turned away. Ten borrowed soldiers bolted through the door, the cleric behind them. Jaiyan sent four of them off to the tavern with brisk instructions, and ordered the rest of them to begin loading the injured onto stretchers.

_Valen_, she thought. _Is he alive?_

_Of course he's alive. Take more than an army of a few thousand drow to slow him down. _

She sighed, and busied herself helping a cleric tie a thrashing soldier onto a stretcher. The drow's stomach was gashed open, and blood already bloomed through his hastily-wrapped bandages. "Where the hells are the potions?"

"Not being brewed," the cleric answered breathlessly. "All the wizards are out at the walls, and we're all in here."

"Gods above." _We're going to be slaughtered. _She slid past the flustered cleric, and out through the back doors, where the smaller arches opened onto the streets. Hot air buffeted her face. The buildings nearest were on fire, but further back she could still see roofs and gables, untouched. Hastily moving groups of drow hurtled past, throwing water on the smouldering wood, and charging back to the docks with leather buckets.

"Alright." She turned, saw two clerics bearing the first of the wounded. "Come on. Carefully."

Walking cautiously, trying not to bolt despite her screaming nerves, she led through the dark, empty buildings, winding her way to the tavern. Too close, she heard the screams and din of battle, the whistling sound of spells screeching overhead.

_Deekin,_ she thought suddenly. _Where the hells was he? And was he still breathing?_

Sudden guilt hit her in the gut. _You've spent all this time worrying about Valen…did Deekin cross your mind even once?_

She had left him at the gates, with Imloth. Left him to face the hails of arrows from the attacking drow, and the soldiers pouring through the gates.

_Can't go and check on him now. Don't even look at the walls. Don't look. _

She ducked down a side-street, and relief welled up when she saw torchlight outside the tavern. Through the doors, and she found the soldiers had pulled the tables aside, pilled chairs and stools in the corners. "Oh, well done."

She motioned the clerics in behind her, and helped them maneuver the stretcher across the floor. Through the windows, they saw the brightness of white bolts lancing down onto the walls. "Stay here," she said quietly. "I'll ferry them across."

One of the clerics gripped her hand. "Be careful."

She nodded, and realized her throat was clogged with ash or tears or both. But there was no time to think, and she was up and running again, sprinting back to the temple, to find the next pair, and guide them to the tavern, and further away from the spells that thudded into the walls.

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Valen ducked a thrown spear and used the impetus of the motion to spin himself around and yank his flail across the shoulder of a drow who leaped in from the left. Blood caked his forehead and one side of his face, and he knew he would find a dozen other sundry gashes on his body later. His shoulders ached, but he knew he could not stop, could not fall back.

_Not with so many dead lying behind him._

The golems still held the walls, and he had enough archers left that they sent volleys back over the parapets, and onto the attacking drow. He stood beside a half-broken ladder and ringed by fallen enemies, and vaguely wondered why the soldiers still hurtled up the rungs. Footsteps touched the stone behind him, and he whirled, Devil's Bane snapping out.

Imloth ducked the spiked heads and glowered at him. "I prefer my neck attached!"

Valen jerked the flail back and growled.

Imloth pushed past him, watched as Ferron's golems hurled the ladders away. Nearby, Gulhrys raised his hands, and chain lightning crackled and coiled between his fingers. The spell lifted, gaining speed and strength, and ploughed out onto a regiment armed with arbalests. The magic sparked between them, charring flesh and leaving armour buckled and melted.

Valen raised his hand. "Fire!"

Arrows sheeted over his head, curving down onto the drow massing below the walls. Fireballs followed, slamming down amid sparks. Valen watched, entirely unmoved as the attacking soldiers thrashed, and screamed, and died.

Strange, fragmented memories rose in his mind. He recalled battles in the Abyss, facing off against hordes of opponents, armed only with his flail and his wits. Blood had been spilled and trampled into the mud, along with bones and weapons.

_A vast army of devils, tall and winged and bearing axes as wide as him. The sky overhead was black with roiling clouds, and hot rain fell. Wherever this was, he neither knew nor cared. Behind him, a handful of demons, most of them full-blooded, and some of them snarling at being ordered to follow a tiefling into combat. _

They had won the day, he remembered, and killed every last devil on the field.

"Look at them."

Imloth's voice jolted him back to the present, and he gazed over the wall.

The drow were milling, moving in confusion as if suddenly aware of the dead piled up against the stone. He saw other soldiers gesturing madly at the ladders, waving at their wizards to keep up the barrage of spells.

"Fire again," Imloth shouted.

A hail of arrows slashed down, and Valen heard screams, and saw the drow falling. They seemed to drop slowly, clawing at the shafts, tumbling onto the carpet of dead beneath them.

Blood ran from a gash on his cheek, touched his lips. He tasted it, inhaled the metallic warmth of it. Beneath his armour, his heart thudded. _Get down there. Tear them apart. Send them down into the stone breathing their own blood. _

"Ferron," he called, raggedly. "Get down there and finish them."

Moving like terrible, implacable statues, the golems obeyed. Some lumbered down the steps and cut off the soldiers trying to hammer their way through the gates. There, they swung huge metal fists and met blades, and pushed the drow back. Others stumbled down the siege ladders and crashed into the soldiers from above, forcing them away from the walls. Green light speared from Gulhrys' outstretched hands, lanced down onto the drow below.

"They're breaking," Imloth whispered. "Good Gods above, they're _breaking_."

A few foolhardy drow darted past the golems and dashed up the ladder nearest. Valen met them, kicked the first off the rungs, and simply heaved until the ladder tipped over, carrying the drow with it.

"Follow them now?" Valen snarled.

"Wait," Imloth said, quieter. "Wait."

The golems pressed harder, driving the remaining drow further back. Blades and spear-points scored against unforgiving metal, and the drow screamed as they were driven underfoot or smashed aside.

Valen stiffened. "We have to follow them."

"Not yet."

"We let them go, they'll vanish. You know that."

Imloth shook his head. "I have a few hundred able soldiers left, _if that. _I am not sending them on a suicide run through the Underdark. We break them, they run, and we gear up. _Then_ we follow them."

"We need to take them now!" Valen gulped down a deep breath and tried to slow his thoughts. "You're right."

"We know where the Valsharess is," Imloth said. "We take every soldier still capable of carrying a sword, and we pick them off on the way, and we throw everything we have at her fortress."

Some odd red mist seemed to burn across Valen's eyes. He wanted to chase after them, and then tear apart the Valsharess' fortress with his bare hands. _For everything she had put them through. For every plot and every soldier she had sent after the Seer. _"Alright," he said, unsteadily. "Stay here, yes?"

"Of course." Imloth regarded him through neutral eyes. "I'll need…maybe four hours. Go and find her. I can hold the walls."

The sound of dying drow was suddenly at the very edge of his awareness. "Yes," he managed, thickly. "Yes…you sent her to the temple?"

On the battlefield below, a drow wizard flung up his arms and screamed an incantation. Some terrible maelstrom of power swirled between his hands. White-hot and hard to look at, the huge spell soared over the walls, and thumped into the temple. Smoke boiled up, and the temple walls shivered. One large stone block slid out from the roof and came crashing down. Another followed, and another. Four fireballs slammed into the shuddering building. Flame roared up, and half of the front wall collapsed, thundering down amid broken stone and huge falling slabs.

Valen stared. _She's in there. Start moving. Start moving _now.

"Go," Imloth said quietly, understanding. "Valen…"

He jumped clean off the wall, landing hard on the city side. Already up and bolting, he shoved his flail into its sheath and pushed faster, ignoring the golems and the last drow at the gates.

He made it halfway to the temple before the last wall crumpled. Smoke and ash and the smell of burning flesh filled the air, and he wanted to scream. Chunks of stone dropped, thumping hard against the ground. He saw robed clerics, some of them blood-soaked, some lying dead amid the rubble.

"No, no, no…" _Gods, no._ He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and tried to think. _Move the stone. Need to move the stone. _

_Don't want to see her dead. _

_Need to move the stone. _

He grabbed at the block nearest and wrenched it aside. Ash clouded up in front of him, and he found that his mouth was sand-dry and his eyes stung.

_Jaiyan…_

He shoved aside another block. His hands hurt inside his gloves, and he ripped them off. The stone felt warm against his skin, and he tore more slabs away. He saw nothing except blanketing embers. His eyelids burned hot and wet.

_You just found her…how could you lose her like this..?_

He yanked another one out, and ignored the blood on his fingers as the stone bit into his skin. _If he needed to move every single slab, he would do it. _

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Jaiyan straightened up, and realized that her back throbbed. On the pallet beside her, a drow soldier slept, his shoulder wrapped up and his left arm swathed in bandages. Hours had fled by while she mopped up blood and pressed poultices against covered wounds. Other soldiers bled their life out onto the floor, while more waited, twisting and sweating on stretchers.

Someone touched her shoulder. "The temple's gone."

She turned, and wondered why she had not heard it toppling. _That much stone…surely it would make a lot of noise?_

She slid past another two clerics, and ducked out through the door. Nearby, flames glowed. Drow soldiers ran past her, heading for the walls. She heard shouts rising up between them, and hurried words about the gates and the Valsharess' forces. More drow followed, marching for the armoury.

She ducked past one group, darted around two smouldering buildings, and stopped still.

The temple was nothing but rubble.

Smoke twined up, and a few drow threw water at the debris. The Seer was safe at the tavern, she knew, but how many had been trapped when the temple walls had crumbled?

_How many had they left behind?_

Suddenly cold all over, she circled the wreckage, and tried to picture the temple as it had been, a mere hour ago. _Tall, strong walls and high spires, carved in black._ _Steps leading up into cool darkness. Incense drifting, and something peaceful._

She swallowed and tried to force her thoughts away from such things. She rounded what had been the corner, and stepped past a smoking lump of rock.

_Valen. _

On his knees, filthy, streaked with blood and sweat. His hands were bleeding as he dug through the rubble, and his eyes were flooded.

"Valen?"

His head turned. She saw something unreadable pass across his face. Then he laughed, unsteadily and threaded with tears. He moved, and in six quick steps, he reached her. "I thought you were dead…"

"No." Her throat was too thick. "No, I'm still here."

He trailed one hand down her cheek. "I thought you were dead," he said again. He touched her hair, and her mouth. "I thought I lost you."

"No," she whispered. "Valen, it's alright."

"You were in the temple." He cupped her face, stared into her eyes. "Imloth said you were in the temple."

"I was." She stroked his hands and wrists, found small cuts and welts along his skin. _But he's here, he's alright, and I can feel him. _"I was in the temple, but I wanted to move the wounded. They're in the tavern. But some of them…some of them got left behind…"

His blue eyes bored down into hers. "You're alive," he said. "I thought…"

He pulled her close, kissing her as if to prove she still breathed. His tail coiled around her waist, and his fingers were hard against her face.

She sank against him and sighed. "Oh, Gods. I thought _you_ were dead."

"An army of a few thousand drow? Barely broke a sweat."

"Hah. Arrogant tiefling."

He pressed his lips against her hair. "Are you hurt?"

"No." She tightened her arms around his breastplate. "Nathyrra is. She's at the tavern. She'll be alright."

"Deekin's fine," Valen said. "He was behind the wall."

A sob caught in her throat. "I almost didn't want to ask."

"Ssh." His mouth brushed her forehead, her cheeks. "He's alright."

"The Seer's at the tavern." She looked up, and saw his expression freeze. "She's with the wounded."

"Oh, Gods." He exhaled, and his whole frame shook. "I thought…"

"I know."

For a long, silent moment, they simply stood there, arms around each other. She pressed her forehead against his armour and smelled blood and him beneath it. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and sighed. His tail wrapped around her thigh, gently squeezing.

Valen stirred first. He shifted enough that he could see her face properly. "The army's broken."

"What do we do next?"

He kissed her forehead. "Imloth is rounding up every drow still capable of carrying a weapon. We'll follow them, and tear down the Valsharess' fortress from under her."

Jaiyan shivered. "How long do we have?"

"Four hours, maybe."

Despite everything – or maybe because of it – she found herself smirking. "What could we possibly do with four hours?"

Valen smiled. "I have a few ideas."

A slight frown then creased his brow, but she leaned up on her toes and kissed him quickly. "The Seer's at the tavern. Come on, I'll show you."

She took his hand, led him through the dark streets, past the smoking wreck of two large buildings. His fingers locked around hers, and she felt his tail brushing the back of her legs as she walked.

At the tavern, they found the clerics still bustling about the wounded, and more soldiers bearing stretchers in through the doors. The Seer was past what had been the bar, looking exhausted and frail. Her white hair was splashed red, and a good seven inches of her outer robe had been slashed off for bandages. Still, she knelt beside an injured soldier, and sewed neat stitches along the length of a deep gash along the drow's abdomen.

Valen stepped around the bloodstained pallet. "Seer?"

The drow woman's head turned, and her eyes lit up. "Valen. You…you're well?"

"I'm fine. Imloth as well."

The Seer sighed, and Jaiyan realized how _small_ she seemed, how diminished. "Good," the Seer said. "And the enemy?"

"Pushed back," Valen said. "Broken by the golems and our archers."

While the tiefling explained, Jaiyan looked away from the Seer and the ranks of moaning wounded. Her gaze fixed on the door, and the torchlight beyond. She heard footsteps pounding fast against the stone, and expected to see a scout, or perhaps a runner.

Instead, Deekin hurtled through the doorway, his wings flapping behind him. "Boss!"

Jaiyan caught him as he crashed into her, wrapped her arms around him, and did not let go. He reeked of smoke, and his tunic was in ribbons. Long cuts trailed blood across his arms and shoulders, and his forehead was bruised.

"Boss!" Deekin's head tilted up, and he blinked at her. "Deekin thought Boss might be dead."

She laughed, a gulping, unsteady kind of laugh. "I thought that I was going to be a few times."

"Boss not be hurt?"

"No. Are you?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Wings be burned. Head be hurting. But Deekin be alright."

"Good." Reluctantly, she loosened her grip on his narrow shoulders. "Listen. The soldiers will be moving out. The big plan is to go flatten the Valsharess in her fortress."

Deekin nodded. "Show Valsharess who not to mess with."

"Something like that. Look, you can stay here, if you want."

His black eyes widened. "Stay _here?_ Boss, there _be_ nothing here now. Why Deekin want to stay here?"

Her chest felt tight again. "You know what I mean."

"Yep. But Deekin not staying." He touched her shoulder. "Not when Boss goes."

"Alright. Deal." She peeled his collar back, checked a slender, bleeding gash that tracked down his between his shoulders. "Does this hurt?"

"Deekin had worse," he said, stoic. "Boss?"

"Yes?"

"Deekin wondering…if Boss and Goat-man want time to do loud things to each other again…"

She gritted her teeth. "Yes?"

"Then Boss and Goat-man collect Deekin from here before army leaves."

She laughed. "Alright. We'll find you."

His head tipped back, and his black eyes were serious. "Boss promises?"

She squeezed his hand. "I promise."

Deekin bounded away, threading his way through the pallets until he found Nathyrra. Firmly ensconcing himself nearby, he launched into a colourful rendition of his own heroic, under-appreciated part in the battle. Watching, Jaiyan saw Nathyrra smile.

"My lady?" Valen's hand combed through her hair.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said, quietly. His blue eyes were intense as he looked at her. "My lady, I wanted to ask if you would…"

"You don't even have to ask." She twined her fingers through his. "Valen, stop looking so serious."

His eyebrows lifted. "My lady, I didn't mean…"

"We're alive. Deekin's alive. The Seer's alive. Imloth and Nathyrra are alive." She laughed suddenly, and flung her arms around him. "Take me upstairs."

He grinned. "Anything my lady wishes."

He did not quite carry her to the stairs, but he led her across the floor almost faster than she could keep up. Giggling, she jogged after him and caught the flicking end of his tail. "Hey, tiefling. My legs aren't as long as yours."

At the top of the steps, he turned and scooped her into his arms. "I thought I lost you."

"The only thing that came _close _to taking me down – well, aside from that orc, and that bandit, and the dracolich – was that huge bottle of something nasty I stole from Drogan."

"If it's not animate, it doesn't count." Valen kicked open the door at the end of the corridor, and dropped her unceremoniously on the bed.

Torchlight slanted in through the window, painting across the folded sheets. For uncounted hours, she had sat and wondered if he still breathed. She had bound wounds and stopped bleeding, and administered healing potions, and hoped. Suddenly frantic, Jaiyan pulled him down on top of her, kissing him breathlessly.

He responded, meeting her passion, pinning her to the bed with his weight. His tail lashed around her leg, and his hands moved across her leathers, finding buckles and straps.

"I'm filthy," she complained, when he peeled her tunic back.

"I don't care about that," he murmured. He pushed her shirt up, kissed his way along her stomach.

She pried the clasps on his armour open, helped him heave it off. "_You're_ filthy."

"I don't care about that either." He yanked her shirt over her head. "Jaiyan…"

She stared up at him, very aware of the sweat that had soaked into her hair and her clothes, and the smoke smell that clung to her. "Yes?"

"You're beautiful."

She wanted to smirk, to tell him he was being stupid, that she was coated in grime and was the exact opposite. But something in his eyes stopped her, and she arched up under him and sealed his mouth with hers. "Valen…"

She hauled his breeches down and heard him groan. Her skin felt on fire, and she fell back onto the bed. He was above her, his horns framed against the torchlight. She gripped his shoulders, leaned up to brush damp kisses against his chest.

"Jaiyan?"

"Please," she whispered.

He leaned down, covering her lips with his. She surged up against him and gasped as his hips moved and he filled her. Her hands locked at the back of his neck, and she tasted the sweat on his shoulders. Desperately, they loved each other, skin sliding against skin, while she sighed his name and tried not to think of what their next move against the Valsharess might cost them.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Chapter Thirty – Crux**_

Jaiyan sat cross-legged on the bed and swore as her fingers caught against another knot in her hair. "I think I'll hack it all off."

Valen looked up from fastening the clasps on his armour. "Really?"

She saw his vaguely worried expression and laughed. "No, not really. Took far too long to grow this long, in any case. I don't think I'd have the patience to do it again." She wound her hair into a single long braid before pinning it up on her head. She looked down at her leathers, lying discarded on the floor, and shuddered at the thought of pulling them back on.

A knock sounded at the door, and Jaiyan groaned. "Tell them we've run away."

Valen smiled. He opened the door, and inclined his head to Imloth. "Are we prepared?"

"As we'll ever be." The drow sighed and passed Valen a plate stacked with cold meat and bread, and a bottle. "Eat, and then I want to get us moving. They're getting restless down there."

"Who's staying?"

"Nathyrra. With a few patrols, and a handful of clerics. She'll have plenty to do looking after the wounded." Imloth smiled wearily. "Valen, the Seer wants to come."

His tail twitched. "She'll be fine."

"She's exhausted."

"We all are." Valen frowned. "Did you ever really think we'd be able to trick her into staying here?"

"Far be it from me to try and gainsay a woman." Imloth shrugged. "Don't be long."

Valen laid the plate on the bed, and Jaiyan eyed the cold rothe meat sidelong. "Eat something," he said gently.

"I'm not hungry." She touched a slice of meat, and her stomach twisted. "I'm not going to be able to keep it down." She reached past him and found the bottle. The cork snapped out easily, and she smelled strong spirits. "This, however…" She tipped the bottle up, and the drink seared down her throat.

"Jaiyan?"

"What?" She gulped down another big mouthful and shuddered. Before she could think better of it, she upended the bottle again.

"Stop." Very gently, he covered her hands with his. "Please stop."

She glared at him, suddenly aware of the knot of tension in her belly and the fear-sweat at the base of her spine. "Valen, I have to somehow figure out a way to survive getting to this fortress, living through whatever happens when we get there…oh, and introducing the Valsharess to the afterlife. So forgive me if I'm a little jumpy."

"Which is why you need to eat." Entirely uncompromising, he pried her fingers off the bottle. "Being tipsy only makes you _think_ your swordplay is any better."

She scowled. She wanted to snatch the spirits off him and drain the bottle and let herself go numb. _Keeps the fear away. Besides, haven't had a drink in a few days. _

"I will keep you safe." His lips brushed her cheek, her eyelids, her chin. "I want you to stay behind me." He kissed her mouth, soft and lingering. "I will not let anything happen to you."

She looked up into his blue eyes, and saw nothing but honesty. "Promise?"

"Promise." He folded her hands around the edge of the plate. "Now eat something."

She contemplated sticking her tongue out at him, but decided she probably appeared childish enough already. She settled for investigating a chunk of bread instead, and chewed slowly. "Valen…what happens afterwards?"

"You mean after the Valsharess is dead?"

She heard the quiet confidence in his voice, and wished she sounded the same. "Yes. What happens after that?"

"I suspect we will return here, and the Seer will begin rebuilding the city."

She leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, and felt his tail curl around her hips. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do." He kissed her temple. "I…honestly don't know what we'll do."

Sudden dread jolted through her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know what we'll do, but I want it to be like this. Together."

Jaiyan grinned. "That's the sappiest thing you've ever said to me."

"Would my lady care for some handwritten romantic poetry, as well?"

She prodded him. "And an emerald pendant the size of my head."

"When I know my lady lifted bags and bags of jewels from the dracolich's hoard? That would be too greedy." He kissed her softly, taking his time. "Are you nearly ready?"

Her scuffed leathers still lay on the floor, and she eyed them dubiously. "Feeling heroic to the very tips of my fingers."

She pulled the leathers on, shuddering as she smelled dried blood. He helped her with the clasps and ties, and she enjoyed the feel of his hands moving across her. Finally, she slung her swordbelt around her waist, the blade at one hip, and the dagger at the other. She exhaled slowly and tried to calm her thundering heartbeat. "Alright. I'm ready."

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For hours they marched through the high caverns of the Underdark. Imloth led, sword drawn in one hand, his pale eyes flickering as he watched the shifting darkness. Jaiyan followed him, with Valen on one side, and Deekin and the Seer on the other. Behind them, the remaining drow ghosted across the stone. They did not trudge along in ranks or columns, but instead glided almost soundlessly, spread out in an odd, curving formation. Few lights broke the darkness; a white star at the tip of the Seer's staff, and Deekin's magelight were the only illumination close by.

Jaiyan gripped her sword and tried to keep her thoughts from dwelling on the Valsharess. Valen walked beside her, and she found herself trying to match his much longer stride, or wondering if he would jump a mile if she grabbed at his tail.

_But what about afterwards?_

She bit the inside of her cheek and kept walking. _Would he want to stay down here with the drow and the Seer? Would he want to go back to Sigil? _

_Would he stay with her on the surface?_

After so many weeks trapped beneath the earth, feeling nothing but old air against her face, she craved sunlight and, more than anything else, the wind.

_Sunlight, wind, and the smell of the sea._

But he remembered little of the surface world above; why would he throw away the strange peace he had found?

_Maybe we could figure something out. Help the Seer rebuild, and then go make sure the sun's still shining over Waterdeep. Because there's no way I could live down here. _

She shook herself. _How about we worry about getting through this battle first? _

Imloth called a halt, and she sank down against a flat-sided rock. Waterskins were passed around, along with dried meat and square loaves of hard, dark bread. Valen patrolled, eyes on the looming darkness. Deekin crouched down beside her, and they shared half a loaf.

Not wanting to lose time, Imloth called them to their feet again and ordered them onwards. Past steep grey cliffs and around towering rock chimneys, they trekked, following the faint path. The slick sheen of a waterfall glittered up ahead, churning into froth where it met the pool below. Jaiyan regarded the plunging water and wished there had been time to bathe before leaving the city.

_Are we wishing we'd given up time with Valen for a bath? _She tilted her head and considered. _Maybe...if it was a bath _with_ Valen. _

Half an hour beyond a saw-toothed outcrop, they ran into their first group of stragglers. Bleeding and exhausted, the eight shocked soldiers were cut down before they could shout warnings. Further along, a small contingent huddled behind piled boulders. Imloth sent Valen and a trio of scouts around the rocks, and Jaiyan listened as the Valsharess' soldiers died. A third group were trapped up against a steep cliff wall, and perished easily beneath a hail of arrows. Yet more dotted the uneven trail through the caverns, some clustered behind rocks, others launching out of the darkness, and some bolting away, only to be hewn apart with horrible efficiency.

_This isn't war,_ Jaiyan thought uneasily. _This is…assassination. _

Beside her, Imloth cleaned his sword. His handsome, angular face was set and determined, and she suddenly realized she had no wish to ever meet him in battle.

"We're drow," he said softly, reading her expression. "We've fought like this for hundreds of years."

"I didn't mean…"

"It's alright. You surfacers are all about pretending honour in battle, and courage on the front line. We prefer to stab our enemies in the back, or chase them into corners and cut them down when they're most exhausted." He inspected his sword, tested the edge. "We're different."

"No," she said, quietly. "There's a line you wouldn't cross, and you know it."

He raised white eyebrows. "Is there?"

"If there wasn't, you wouldn't be rebels."

Imloth grinned past her at Valen. "Found yourself a sharp one, my friend."

The path led up, snaking around stalactites big as oak trees, loose gravel underfoot. Another band of drow were flushed from behind tall, thin rocks, and the archers dropped them quickly. While six scouts were dispatched to circle around ahead, Imloth grasped Jaiyan's shoulder. "The fortress is just a jump away, over that rise."

She stared at the grey slope and swallowed. "Plan?"

"We'll clear the gates," he said. "I'll have my archers concentrate on the gatehouse."

"And me?"

"You're staying with me," Valen told her. "I'm going to get you inside, and then we'll find the Valsharess."

"Alright." She drew in a deep, steadying breath. She searched Valen's face, and saw his eyes soften. "You do the heavyweight hitting, and I jump all over the Valsharess."

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Yes."

"Well, if she hasn't bothered to put on a decent suit of armour, I shouldn't have any problem finding somewhere to stab."

Imloth snorted, but his eyes gleamed. "You speak of the Matron Mother who wishes to rule the Underdark."

"Yes, well. I get snippy when I'm nervous." She shook herself, and wished her hands did not feel quite so slippery.

Valen clasped her wrist, steadied her as her knees trembled. "It will be alright," he murmured. "I'll be with you."

Leathery wings brushed her side. "And Deekin," the little kobold chirped.

She laughed. "Then what could possibly go wrong?"

_Death. Dismemberment. Intense, extreme pain. _

Valen pressed a quick kiss against her forehead. She reached up, grabbed the top of his breastplate, and guided his head down. She kissed him properly, felt him sigh against her lips. She wanted nothing more than to stand there with him, tasting the reassuring warmth of his mouth, and pretending they were somewhere else.

_Can't_, that prodding, pragmatic part of her thoughts informed her. _Got to get moving. Let go of the tiefling. Find the Valsharess. _

"Alright," she said. "Let's finish this."

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Rising up from the stone beneath, the fortress was high and dark. A ring of needle-point spires circled a single soaring tower in the very centre. Tall black gates sealed the walls, lined with steel. A stone causeway lifted from the ground, propped up on vast pillars, narrowing as it channeled towards the gatehouse. Around the fortress, there was little room; merely a rock shelf separating the walls from the plunge to the plain below. On the crenulations, pale torches flickered, and drow soldiers patrolled. Sable pennants whispered, worked with silver thread.

Following Imloth towards the causeway, Jaiyan swallowed. Valen was ahead of her, and the drow trailed behind, fanning out, nocking arrows to strings even as they ran.

_She's in there. The Valsharess. _

_Not just a drow. _

_A Matron Mother. _

_The Valsharess. _

She gripped her sword tighter and searched the crenelations. She saw drow archers stepping between the battlements, sighting on them.

Imloth gestured onwards. "Keep going!"

_You were almost killed by some sundry drow in a raid. What makes you think you can fight the Valsharess?_

_The Valsharess with a pet arch-devil. _

Jaiyan shivered.

_Don't worry, you'll probably be a messy pile of flesh on the floor before the arch-devil even gets a chance to lay into you. _

"The gates! Go for the gates!" Imloth motioned them on wildly.

On the walls, the Valsharess' drow fired. Black arrows scythed down, slicing onto the soldiers below. Already halfway up the causeway, Jaiyan heard the screams behind, and the thudding sound of drow falling against the stone. More arrows sheeted past them, sinking into leather and skin.

"Archers! Fire back!"

The soldiers obeyed, aiming and shooting at a ragged run. Some shafts bounced off the walls; others missed entirely, while some whirred in between the crenulations and thumped into the defenders.

Imloth shoved Jaiyan past him. "Go! Get to the gates!"

She grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Staying with my archers. Go. _Now!_"

She wanted to snap at him, to argue that he was being foolish. But Valen grasped her wrist and pulled her away. She was vaguely aware of Deekin bolting along on her other side and trying to reload his crossbow at the same time. Another volley of arrows loosed from behind, slammed against the walls.

"Come on!" Valen yanked her along faster, heading for the top of the causeway and the space beside the gates.

She almost crashed into the wall, turned. And her heart twisted as she saw the drow on the causeway. Arrows came down in black torrents on them, and they fell, tumbling onto the stone plain far below. She tried to search for Imloth among them, and could not find him.

A soft, slender hand touched hers, and she looked into the Seer's eyes. "Stay here," the Seer whispered.

"What?"

But the Seer stepped out from the wall and raised her arms.

Valen shook his head wildly. "Don't!"

Woken power crackled around the Seer's clenched hands. Bolts of white light jagged up from her fingers. Her thickly-lashed eyes closed, and the spell seared up, a crackling maelstrom of energy. The magic slashed up and over the walls, and Jaiyan heard the drow above screaming. The gut-roiling stink of burning flesh invaded her mouth and nose, and she shuddered.

The Seer's head tipped up, and another wave of terrible magic scorched from her trembling hands. Above, the pennants exploded into bright flame, and the stone beneath glowed.

On the causeway, the archers responded. With the onslaught from the fortress lessened, and the walls above the gates engulfed in white fire, they had but one chance.

Watching, her back pressed to the wall, Jaiyan saw them draw. Arrows sheeted across and up, and she wondered at the carnage above her.

_But they attacked Lith My'athar and burned it almost to the ground,_ some angry thought complained.

A half-dead drow plummeted past her, shot through the chest and the leg. He missed the rock plateau entirely, and dropped into the gulf below.

The Seer murmured some strange incantation, and her hands flared. Light speared up, blistering against stone and raising smoke and screams. Arrows arced down in response, and the drow on the causeway milled.

_They have nowhere to go,_ Jaiyan thought desperately. She twisted her head around, stared up into Valen's pale face. "What do we do now?"

He pulled away from the wall, his flail swinging up and out. Inches from the gate, he leaped back as the huge doors creaked open. Poised behind his shoulder, Jaiyan expected wizards, or maybe some contingent of assassins. Instead, soldiers barreled through, loaded arbalests balanced between them.

The first drow turned, and shrieked as Devil's Bane smashed into his skull. Valen kept moving, shearing them apart. He vaulted over the dropped arbalest and ducked a huge bolt shot from another. The flail spun in his hands, thumping unforgivingly into the chest of the next drow. He wrenched the weapon free, and the blood spray coated one side of his face.

Jaiyan followed him, dived at a drow who launched away from his arbalest and at her. She darted under the downswing of his sword, drove an elbow against his temple. The drow staggered, and she smashed his sword aside. A bolt sliced past her head, and she yelped. Recovering quickly, she balanced her footing and met the drow's follow-up rush. She pushed him back, kicked him in the stomach, and gritted her teeth as she slammed her sword between his ribs.

Bolts rained down from the gates, clanging off the stone, driving Imloth's archers back. Some were swept clean off the causeway, and others were pinned, screaming.

Jaiyan leaped past Valen, cannoned into another drow. Behind her, Deekin shouted out a spell. She spun, driving the drow back, matching his strokes. On her other side, the arbalests swung around, bolts level and gleaming. Deekin fired, and a drow slumped to her knees. Jaiyan kept moving, knew she would panic if she stopped to think. The air around her hummed with magic, and another bolt whined past her face.

She whirled and jumped past a vacant arbalest. She knew Valen was behind her, and she heard him shouting. She turned, rammed the point of her sword deep into a drow's throat.

"Get back here," Valen snarled. "You're too far! Jaiyan!"

She looked up, saw that the high walls of the gatehouse loomed on either side. In front of her, she saw the open gates, and the tip of another bolt, and the drow beyond it. She rolled away as the bolt roared over her head and realized there were six drow between her and the tiefling.

"Jaiyan! Get _back_ here!"

_Don't think. Don't think. Just move._

She flipped her sword around, drove the pommel against a drow's jaw. While he stumbled, coughing, she kicked past him and launched at her next opponent. This one was tall for his kind, lean and wiry, and carried two swords. She dodged beneath the first, and cried out as the second sliced across her shoulder.

"Jaiyan!"

The flat of the drow's blade slammed into her stomach, winding her. She glared through sweat-stung eyes and launched at him. She knocked one sword aside with her elbow, and kicked out at the second. The drow dropped his right-hand weapon and punched her. She staggered and spat blood.

"Jaiyan, move, _now!_"

She heard the ratcheting sound of an arbalest being loaded. She slashed out wildly with her sword, and the drow grunted. Her head was swimming, and she wondered why her mouth tasted of copper. She thrust past the drow's blade, and her sword sank into his chest.

She turned, aware that her shoulder throbbed and her head hurt. She saw Valen, mowing through two drow. He seemed to be saying something, calling to her. She squinted at him, could not quite make it out.

He motioned wildly with one hand, and she dropped to her knees, hoping she had read him correctly.

A six-inch-wide bolt flew over her head and punched into his breastplate, inches below his collarbone.

She saw him stumble. _His armour's thick_, she thought desperately.

_But those bolts are big. And he was almost at point-blank range. _

Something galvanised her nerves, and she bolted, jumping past fallen drow. Her boots slipped on spilled blood. She fled past two abandoned arbalests and dropped to her knees beside him. "Valen?"

His head turned, and she saw the spilling redness around the embedded bolt. It had slammed through his armour and into his chest. She saw the downward angle of it, and felt cold. "Valen?"

His eyes swiveled, fixing on her. His mouth moved, but he did not speak. Blood welled between his lips. His hands closed around hers.

"Valen?" She leaned over him, frantic. "Valen, don't do this to me."

One side of his mouth curled up. He shuddered, and blood ribboned his chin.

She cupped his face with shaking hands, discovered how cold his skin was. "Valen, I don't know what to do."

She wanted to scream, or thrash, or will it all away, and pretend that they were back in her room at the temple. Back amid the sheets, so she could imagine the first touch of his lips on hers again. _His gentleness, his restraint. His laughter, afterwards. _Her eyes burned, and she scowled. She knotted her hands in his hair and stared down into his blood-streaked face, utterly lost.

A bolt whined over her head and thumped against the wall. _What do I do now? _His chest was heaving, slowly and unevenly, and she could hear each wet breath that raked through his throat.

_What do I do now?_

His eyes lifted, meeting hers. Fading beneath scarlet eyebrows, and not the same jewel-bright gaze she knew. "Valen?"

His lips moved silently. Part of her wanted to shake him, or scream at him. But the bolt was lodged in his breastplate, and she could feel it when she leaned over him.

She opened her mouth, not sure what she might say. Her skin roughened, and something icy and _wrong_ seethed over her. Her shoulders tightened, and the flesh beneath her armour rebelled as if a thousand needles pricked her. She cried out, but some dark spell washed over her, and she wondered if she was about to die.


	31. Chapter 31

_A really big thank-you to everyone who's keeping up with this- your enthusiasm keeps me going! Also, disclaimer still applies. _

_**Chapter Thirty-One – The Valsharess**_

Jaiyan closed her eyes as the world upended and shattered. Magic whined in her ears, and she shuddered as her stomach flipped over. Some terrible rushing power snatched at her hair and her clothes, and it felt as if the floor had vanished. She floundered, and touched nothing but empty air. A scream threatened to well up, and she shoved it back.

_What the hells is this? A quick trip to the halls of the dead?_

Her knees and elbows hit something solid. Reminded abruptly of Halaster's portal, she cracked open one eye. _Sword, dagger, no broken bones, head still on shoulders. Could be worse._

She opened her mouth, and sickly-sweet incense hit the back of her throat. Gingerly, she made it to her feet. Her head spun. Through narrowed eyes she made out a black stone floor, and high columns. A dais at one end, with a throne. And silver spider designs, whorled across edges and lines.

_Well, still in the Underdark, then. _

"Surfacer."

She whirled around, and found herself staring at the Valsharess.

_Has to be her_, Jaiyan thought desperately. _The drow woman who had invaded her dreams. _

Up close, she was stunning. Coils of thick white hair were arranged around her shoulders, caught back from her angled, ebony face with diamond-tipped pins. Her crimson eyes were all fire and keen awareness. Her lithe, enviable figure was hugged with revealing black armour, spiked at the collar and elbows. A whip hung at her wasp waist, and the tilt of her hips and head were defiant.

"Valsharess," Jaiyan replied in the same tone. "You know, I really thought you'd dress better for this occasion."

A thin, taunting smile curved the Valsharess' mouth. "Humour even now, when your precious rebels lie bleeding their lives away outside?"

_Valen, lying prone, a bolt lodged in his chest._

"If I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying." Jaiyan lifted her sword. "Do you actually have a name?"

"Why did you come down here, surfacer?" The Valsharess stepped back from her, studying her. "The whispers of prophecy spoke of a saviour, someone to _help_ the rebels. Someone who would carry them to victory, and beyond. Instead, Lith My'athar is in ruins, and you stand before me…and outside, your allies die."

"No."

"You deny truth?" One flawless white eyebrow arched. "Surfacer, the tiefling is dead."

Simple words, easily spoken; and Jaiyan felt them like a punch in the gut. "No," she managed. "He's not…he was breathing…"

"Your drow fall by the dozen. The tiefling is dead. The kobold is dead. The Seer is routed and running."

The Valsharess' voice rose and fell, gentle and soft and so _credible_.

"No, that's…not true."

"Yet you falter." The Valsharess reached out, brushed aside a thick lock of Jaiyan's hair. "How else did you think this could end, surfacer?"

"With me ramming my sword down your throat?"

The Valsharess laughed, silken. "I do not think so. You will struggle, and you will die. And I will take the Underdark, and the world above."

Jaiyan blinked through angry tears. "I thought drow didn't like sunlight."

Slender fingers lifted her chin, and the Valsharess regarded her face speculatively. "You have almost been a worthy opponent, surfacer. A shame, perhaps, that you will lose everything."

"Stop touching me." She jerked away from the drow's hands. "You want me dead almost as much as I want you dead."

The Valsharess laughed again. "But of course. I forget that humans are such a brash folk, audacious and quick to decide things. I suppose that handful of years you call a life makes lengthy consideration impossible."

Jaiyan raised her sword. Her throat was painfully thick, and her eyes were blurring again. "If you don't defend yourself within the next _heartbeat_, I'm going to go against everything I was ever taught and just hack you apart anyway."

This time, the drow's smile showed even, white teeth. "Ah, my dear. _I_ will be watching you die. Mephistopheles?"

Dread sliced down Jaiyan's spine. She _knew_ about the arch-devil. And yet the throne room had seemed empty, and she had let all her focus fall onto the Valsharess instead.

Near the dais, some spell snapped and broke away. The sharp smell of sulfur suddenly filled the air. Standing beside the dais was…_what the hells is that thing? It's _huge._ And red. _

"Ah," she said, shakily. "Your personal pet arch-devil."

The creature was vast, fire-skinned and horned. Solid hooves struck against the stone, and a thick, sinuous tail lashed between its muscled legs. Wings curved out from its shoulders, shadowing and dark. Yellow eyes burned in deep sockets, and the smile beneath was cruel and teasing.

"You know, no one ever could tell me how you managed to summon this thing and keep him bound to your will." Behind her fixed expression, Jaiyan's mind reeled. _How am I supposed to fight that thing? It's a got a trident! And hooves! And claws! Do I have to fight them both at once? _

She drew down a deep breath. "So, how did you do it?"

The Valsharess' smile turned secretive. "You would not understand. Mephistopheles?"

The arch-devil's great head turned. "Yes, Great Valsharess?"

There was something too unctuous in the creature's voice, something that set off alarms in Jaiyan's head.

"Destroy the surfacer."

Fierce yellow eyes fixed on Jaiyan. "I…will not, Great Valsharess."

The Valsharess stared at the arch-devil. Her face was stripped of guile, and Jaiyan saw apprehension in her eyes. "You will obey me, Mephistopheles!"

The arch-devil smiled. "I think not."

"Obey me!" The drow's voice turned shrill and desperate. "I _command_ you!"

Mephistopheles shrugged, a rippling of huge muscles. "Command away, Valsharess."

"I _summoned_ you. I _bound_ you!" The Valsharess backed away, trembling all over. "You _will_ obey me!"

The arch-devil laughed, and the sound sent cold running over Jaiyan's skin. "There you are, surfacer," Mephistopheles said slowly. "She's all yours."

_Yes, but what does that mean? That you'll wait until she's dead and then go after me? _

_Stop thinking. _

Jaiyan swung her sword around, dashed one hand across her face to clear her vision, and threw herself at the Valsharess. Her shoulder slammed into the drow's chest, and she staggered back. Jaiyan spun the sword at the drow's throat and rammed a clenched fist against her stomach.

The Valsharess doubled over, hissing through her teeth. Jaiyan followed up, tried to cut past her crossed arms and at the soft skin on her belly. Her blade clanked against the drow's bracers. She struck at her again and again, frantic. The pain in her head was making her movements shoddy, and too many blows sheared harmlessly against curving metal.

She wanted to throw her sword aside and launch into the Valsharess with her hands.

_Because of this woman and her terrible ambition, too much blood stained the stones outside. _

_Because of this woman, Valen was…_

_…No._

The Valsharess leaped away from her, all agile motion and lashing white hair. Her hands flicked up, and magic blurred the air. Bleeding blue sparks, a spell whined from her fingers.

No longer caring, Jaiyan let the spell slam into her chest. Pain washed over her, wrenching a cry from her lips. She kept moving, barely ducked as a fire spell roared past her head. Hot tears tracked down her face. Another spell followed, buzzing like angry hornets, descending on her and leaving her hunched over.

She pushed on through the pain. She bolted the next few feet and crashed bodily into the Valsharess again.

The drow melted away from her, infuriatingly fast. The whip cracked out, and the needle-point tip drew blood on her shoulders. She spun, tried to bat the whip aside as it snapped out again. The tip whirred past her face, and the length of it lashed around her neck.

On bare instinct, she dropped her sword, and her fingers flew to her throat. She scrabbled madly at the tightening whip, and dragged down a gulping breath. White spots flashed in front of her, and she could hear nothing past the roaring in her ears.

The Valsharess reeled her in, hand over hand, smiling. "Caught so easily, little surfacer?"

She pried at the whip, found no purchase against it. It felt somehow slippery, and seemed to dig itself in against her skin. The drow tugged sharply, and Jaiyan crashed to her knees.

"And so it ends," the Valsharess said.

Jaiyan glared through bloodshot eyes. _It does _not_ end, _she thought, furiously. _And I'd tell you that if I wasn't being throttled. _

She unpeeled one hand from the whip, gasped as it coiled tighter. She clutched at her belt, fumbling, and her fingers closed over the hilt of her dagger.

_The dagger Valen gave her. _

Another swell of tears threatened to blind her. _Don't think about it. Don't think about him. _

She swept the dagger up, slicing through the whip.

The Valsharess staggered away, crimson eyes widening.

Jaiyan tore the cut end of the whip away from her neck. She heaved down huge breaths through a throat that felt swollen and thick. She could hear Drogan's voice, rising up from memory.

"_Don't just stand there. I don't care if it's minotaur or a gibberling, you do _not_ stand there flat-footed." The old dwarf glowered through lowered brows. "Or if you do, I'll be having no sympathy when you get yourself skewered."_

Somehow she spurred exhausted muscles on. She darted past the screeching flare of a spell, and underneath the coils of the whip. She snatched the Valsharess' hand, and brought her sword down. The blade sheared clean through the whip, and the drow cried out. She kept moving, kicked the drow's feet out from under her, and launched herself after.

She hit the floor jarringly hard, the Valsharess beneath her. She drove one knee into the drow's stomach, and used her left hand to pin the drow's arms.

The Valsharess thrashed, snake-quick. One foot lashed up, forcing Jaiyan off her. Her elbows cracked against the stone floor, and she cried out. Hard, thin fingers wrenched her onto her back. The drow's lean weight pressed against her, and chill metal touched her throat. She twisted her head, looked down the length of a long knife and into the Valsharess' livid, sweating face.

"I guess you got too used to having the Red Sisters do all the dirty work for you," Jaiyan snarled.

The blade moved, and she felt warm blood trickle down her throat.

"What are you waiting for?" She glared up into the drow's eyes. "_What are you waiting for?_"

Snowy hair cascaded against Jaiyan's face as the Valsharess leaned down to whisper into her ear. "You," the Valsharess said gently. "To break."

Some last, hidden nerve in Jaiyan snapped. She shoved up against the drow, uncaring of the knife. Slamming one knee against the drow's abdomen, she hauled the Valsharess off her. The blade skittered against her throat. Her first punch sent the drow onto her knees, and the second split her lip. She grabbed a handful of thick white hair and yanked the Valsharess' head back.

White-ringed, the Valsharess' eyes rolled. Her mouth and chin were lined with blood. She flailed out at Jaiyan, thrashed. Her heels scraped against the floor.

And, looking down into her wild-eyed face, Jaiyan almost faltered. The stark, unforgiving _fear_ in the drow's eyes cut her to the core. She had seen such mindless terror before, on the face of a girl abducted by bandits. _The girl had been so afraid she could no longer tell captor from rescuer_, she remembered.

_No,_ sane reason told her. _This is woman responsible for Lith My'athar. For the dead outside. For Deekin. _

_For Valen._

Jaiyan dragged her dagger across the Valsharess' throat. Hot blood gushed across her hands, and something very like satisfaction warmed her. Beneath her, the drow kicked out limply. Twined now with scarlet, her white hair slipped off Jaiyan's shoulder as she crumpled. With her mouth full of the scent of shed blood, Jaiyan let the Valsharess fall, watched as she crashed against the stone.

Some terrible, angry part of her wanted to hit her again, maybe drive the dagger over and over into her unresponsive body.

_No._ She exhaled slowly, tried to calm her galloping heartbeat. _She's dead. It's done. _

Except it was not, and as she turned, she saw the great arch-devil watching her. The fire in his yellow eyes was bright, and one side of his mouth slanted up. His gaze reminded her of a wolf considering whether or not to bother with easy prey.

"You know," Jaiyan said tiredly, "I think I am just about angry enough right now to fight you. Just so you know."

Mephistopheles laughed. "Why would I want to fight you, little one?"

"Oh, I don't know. Because you're big and mean." Her eyes stung, and her throat felt raw. "So if you're not going to, how about you let me go?"

Another rumbling laugh. "I do not think so."

"Because things are never simple. I get it." Tears flooded her eyes again, and she blinked them back. "You were never truly bound by the Valsharess."

"A drow's arrogance is a great thing." The arch-devil's head tilted. "Have you never asked yourself, why _you?_ What were the chances, little one, of venturing down here, becoming trapped by a mad wizard's geas, and then, lo and behold, the rebels' Seer has visions of _you._ What indeed are the chances?"

"I don't gamble. I couldn't tell you."

"Little one, you are here because of _me_."

Jaiyan stared. "What?"

"The prophecy your Seer took from her visions…a prophecy indicating a surfacer saviour. A prophecy that would free them of the Valsharess."

"I know that part." Jaiyan approached him carefully. _Well, why not? It's not like there's anywhere to run if he turns nasty. _"What's your point?"

"Why _you_, is my point." Mephistopheles gestured with one huge hand. His voice was unsettlingly urbane, his tone reasonable. "Do you remember, Jaiyan…do you remember plunging witlessly into the shadow realm in Undrentide?"

Something cold wormed around in her stomach. "How do you…how do you know my name?"

"I know you," the arch-devil said, matter-of-fact. "I know where you have been, and who you have been with, and what you have done. I know you fought through the shadow plane in Undrentide. I know you found an…artifact. In the Arcanist's Tower."

_The Relic. The Relic of the Reaper. I _knew_ we should have left that damned thing there._ "What?"

"Oh, don't play stupid, little one. Your thoughts betray you. You called it the Relic." Mephistopheles' grin widened. "And it frightened you."

"Alright." Steadying herself, she stared right back at him. "What is it?"

"A part of me, little one."

"That's…revolting," she said before she could think better of it. "_Literally_ a piece of you?"

The arch-devil nodded. She swallowed back nausea and shivered. _So I've been carrying around a chunk of devil flesh? Wonderful_. "Well, I'm sorry if you want it back, but Deekin's…" _Deekin's dead. _"…Deekin's got it."

"Has he, indeed?" A thread of laughter entered the arch-devil's genial tone. "Check again, little one."

Horribly certain of what she would find, she ran her hand along her belt until she touched a loosely-wrapped globe. Hesitantly, she pulled it off her belt. Beneath the leather, the Relic pulsated. It sat heavily on her palm, and she half expected it to leap from her hand and bound across to the arch-devil. "Oh, Gods."

"Don't worry, little one. It's not going to bite."

She dragged her gaze up from the throbbing sphere. "So what happens now?"

"Well." Mephistopheles stared hungrily at the Relic. "I will take it from you, and I will become whole. And in so doing, I will send your wailing soul to the hell from which I was summoned."

"Excuse me?"

"And I will take your place on the surface world above." The arch-devil grinned, all sharp teeth. "Is that too complicated?"

Jaiyan swayed. "You let the Valsharess call you because I had the Relic."

"You're a quick one, aren't you?" The vast trident spun around, the spikes on it pointing directly at her. "You have been most useful, little one. Because of your blind idiocy and your fondness for treasure, you have given me my chance to gain a place on your world. And there are _such_ pleasures to be had on the surface."

"No, wait…" She gripped her sword and considered throwing herself headlong at the arch-devil. But he was too big, and she was exhausted, and wrung through. "Don't, please…"

"No, little one. There is far too much waiting for me above." The light in Mephistopheles' eyes flared. "I am afraid this conversation will have to wait for another time."

With that, he swiveled the trident, and fire burst from it, and she felt nothing more.

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Imloth skidded across the end of the causeway and almost collided with the wall. The stone underfoot was slippery with blood and heaped with the fallen. The fortress above seemed oddly, hideously silent; no footsteps tramped against the crenulations, no wizards screamed incantations. The causeway itself was thick with dead drow; before bolting up to the wall, he had counted maybe two hundred still breathing.

He gripped his bow tightly and swore. His shoulder was punctured and bleeding, and a long gash across one of his calf muscles spoiled his gait. "Seer!"

Kneeling beside Valen, the Seer did not stir. Lying supine, the tiefling was motionless, his hands loose and his eyes half-closed. "Seer!"

The Seer flinched. "Commander?"

"I want to know what the hells is happening in there." Imloth jerked his head at the fortress.

"But Jaiyan must…"

"Right now, if I get in there and she's pinned up against the wall by the Valsharess, then I'll help her, prophecy or no prophecy." Imloth exhaled sharply and tried to force the tension to empty from his shoulders. "We're sitting here utterly useless. All I'm achieving right now is letting the wounded drown in their own blood."

His tone left no room for compromise, and the Seer did not try. He pushed through the dead littering the area around the gates and winced when his heel slipped against puddled blood. He slung his bow over his shoulder, unsheathed his sword. Moving warily, he made it through the broken gates, and into the passageway beyond.

The stillness frightened him; the air was dead in here. There should have been shouting and running, and soldiers calling out orders, and sending for reinforcements.

Instead, all was quiet.

With every nerve screaming at him to bolt, Imloth found his way down the corridor and up a flight of black stairs. He knew drow architecture well, and guessed the throne room would be set back from the walls, past several lines of defense. Except, where the junctions of passageways would normally be manned with assassins, he found nothing, save the unmoving air and the drift of smoke.

Up ahead, huge black doors hung open. He smelled smoke first, and blood second. And again, there was no sound; no clash of swords, none of the rough noise he always associated with fighting.

Already dreading what he might see, Imloth pressed himself to one of the doors and peered in.

Sprawled on the floor was a dead drow female. Her throat had been opened almost to the neck bone, and her head slumped at an uncomfortable angle. Her face was obscured by her blood-soaked hair, but he recognized the designs on her armour.

_So, the Valsharess it dead. Now where the hells is our saviour?_

Nearer the dais, the floor was slicked crimson.

He was about to slip between the doors when red light flared somewhere in the throne room. He shot a quick glance through again, and his knees went weak.

_Arch-devil. _

_Arch-devil loose, summoner dead. _

_No Jaiyan. _

_Run._

He made himself back away slowly. Every instinct demanded that he bolt, but he did not like his chances if the arch-devil in the throne room noticed him. He prowled back through the twisting corridors, and only gave in to a run when he saw the gatehouse rising before him again.

He pelted out onto the causeway, ignoring the biting pain in his leg. "Seer!"

The Seer raised her head. "What's happened? Where's Jaiyan?"

"We have to go, now." Behind him, a tremor rippled through the fortress. "_Now_."

The level stare the Seer gaze him could have buckled metal. "What has happened?"

"The Valsharess is dead. Her arch-devil is loose. There's blood all over the throne room and no sign of Jaiyan."

The Seer's whole frame trembled. "Then we return to Lith My'athar," she said, quietly.

"There's nothing left there!" Imloth heard himself almost yelling.

"Where else is there to go?" The Seer shook her head. "The arch-devil may make for the surface."

"So we hope he doesn't follow us? Is _that_ the plan?" Imloth groaned. "Fine. Get them all on their feet." He turned to begin calling orders to his surviving soldiers when some terrible thought struck him. "Seer?"

"Yes?"

"Valen?"

The Seer shook her head silently.

Imloth swallowed. _Drow do not feel sorrow. Drow do not feel compassion. Drow do not…feel._ His eyes prickled, and he was suddenly aware of the pain in his shoulder and leg. _Stop thinking. Get them out of here first._ "I'm sorry," he said.

The Seer nodded. Her poise was still graceful, but he could see the half-buried hurt in her face. "Later," she answered. "We can speak of it later."

_A prophecy crushed, an arch-devil loose, and the two of them lost. _Imloth wanted to wrap his arms around the Seer, tell her that it would all somehow be alright. Except she was his superior, he was only a male, and she looked as if the slightest touch would shatter her_. _

So he did the only thing he was certain of, and rounded his soldiers up, and ordered them down the causeway and back to Lith My'athar.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Chapter Thirty-Two – Hail the Dead**_

There was something warm beneath her cheek, and the soft touch of a breeze. Her mind drifted happily somewhere between slumber and waking, not caring. She knew she could turn over and feel Valen's arms circling her, his gentle breathing against her skin. She reached out blindly, and her fingertips brushed cold rock.

Jaiyan's eyes flew open.

_No Valen. Only stone and time and the sense of waiting._

She raised her head, saw columns wreathed in pale mist. She had been here before, that day the bandit's bolt had plunged into her stomach. Beneath her, the stone was polished to mirror brightness. She dragged herself up to her knees, noted that every scrape and bruise and cut she had taken in the battle outside the fortress still ached.

She frowned, and tried to remember. She recalled the Valsharess, and the unbridled terror in the woman's face. _And then you slashed her throat open. _

Then there had been…what?

_Pain. Fire. Mephistopheles._

"Oh, Gods." An arch-devil, unleashed through his own manipulation and the foolish ambition of a Matron Mother. And here she was, embarrassingly dead, and with no way of knowing what had happened in the Underdark. "_Now_ what do I do?"

"Sojourner." The same voice, low and clear, and vaguely amused. "Did I not say I would see you again?"

She turned, and saw the Reaper watching her through his faceless cowl. His robes floated against the floor, and his thin, bone-white hands were clasped. "I suppose you were right," she said sourly. "Did you actually have any insight or were you just going to smirk at me some more?"

A moment passed, and she almost convinced herself she saw the Reaper smiling. _Of course you didn't_, she thought tiredly. _He doesn't even have a face. That you can see, anyway._

"Mephistopheles is free," the Reaper said.

"I know. I was there when he burned me to a smoking piece of cinder."

"He has regained that part of his flesh that was lost." The Reaper's robes rustled. "And now he walks through the Underdark, taking your soul's place. He will make for the surface."

"And what will he do when he gets there?" _Play cards, get drunk, visit a brothel?_

"Sojourner." A hint of remonstrance wove through the Reaper's voice. "What do you think he will do?"

She sighed and crouched down against the stone. "So it's to be fire and brimstone all the way. And where am I now?"

"Once you step through my gateway, you will be in Cania. The Eighth of the Nine Hells." The Reaper gestured to the glowing doorway poised between the columns. "This is the place in which Mephistopheles was once a great power."

"Alright. So how do we stop him?"

"_We_ don't, Sojourner. You and your soul will be lost to wander the wastes of Cania."

Jaiyan inspected her sword hilt, then looked down the blade and found three nicks she was suddenly desperate to smooth out of the metal. "Oh, really? What if I don't want to?"

The Reaper shifted, and his robes whispered across the floor. "Then find my True Name."

"Find your True Name." Weariness clawed at her, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the stone and sink into sleep. "What is your True Name?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Why, because it's embarrassing?"

The Reaper's hands twisted together. "Sojourner," he said, heavily. "I am trying to help you."

"Sorry." She shrugged moodily. "I was alive a while ago, now I'm not, and I don't know if Deekin or Valen are…" She cut herself off. "Sorry. What's a True Name?"

"The Name by which you are known to the Gods, and the stars that stitch the night sky above all the worlds. The Name that is bound into your very blood and marrow. The Name by which you can be commanded, should another know of it."

She stared at him, and abruptly understood. He _knew_ Mephistopheles, always had in fact, perhaps since before they found the Relic in Undrentide. "He knows yours," she said slowly. "So you can't send me back. Because he's told you not to."

"Very good, Sojourner."

"How do I find your True Name, then?"

"Go into Cania, and discover its terrible mysteries. There are enigmas older than the planes themselves here." The Reaper gestured at the doorway again. "Not only the dead walk these desolate wastes."

She rolled her shoulders, and felt the sweat and grime that still clung to her skin. _Alone_, she thought dismally. _I'm going to have to do this alone. With no help but a handful of riddles from a man without a proper face. _

"Sojourner?" the Reaper said gently.

She swiped filthy hair away from her face. "What is it?"

"Cania is terrible. I cannot pretend otherwise. You will have to face its trials, and find my True Name. In so doing, you may discover something of the nature of your enemy."

"He's big, red, has horns, an annoying voice, and I'm going to make him wish I'd never picked up that damn Relic." She glared and added, "And that's all I need to know."

"Nevertheless," the Reaper said, not condemning. "Truth is often laid bare beneath the harrowing of an ordeal. And, Sojourner…you do not need to be alone."

"What..?" Sudden, desperate hope tore through her. She wanted to grab the Reaper by his collar, shake him until he explained. "What do you mean?"

"Name me a fallen spirit, Sojourner, that you wish to have accompany you, and I will bring them to you." The Reaper's voice was soft, and she wondered again what he might look like beneath his cowl.

"Valen," she said. "Valen Shadowbreath."

Nothing changed amid the shadows of the Reaper's hood; his hands barely moved. But the whispering wind shifted and stirred, and blew hot against her face. Between one terse, waiting instant and the next, _he was there. _

Standing before her, alive and whole. His blue eyes were wide and confused, and his tail snapped irritably.

"Valen?"

His gaze swung from the Reaper to her, and he smiled, almost disbelieving. "I…was dead?"

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

"I…remember." A frown creased his forehead. "The arbalests?"

"Yes." She drew in an unsteady breath. "It was…it was my fault."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, it wasn't."

Tears brimmed and fell down her cheeks. "Yes, it was. I went too far. You kept shouting for me to come back, but I was stuck. There were too many drow, and then they fired, and…"

"Come here," he said, gently.

His arms opened, and then she was pressed against his chest, feeling the rhythmic thump of his heart. His tail curled around her waist, sealing her against him. His hands roamed up and down her back, stroking and kneading. "The Valsharess?"

"Dead," Jaiyan said. The breath hitched in her throat. "But Mephistopheles is loose, and I don't know what happened to the Seer because he killed me first."

"Ssh. It's alright." He tilted her face up, brushed away her tears with his thumbs. "Jaiyan, it's alright. You're here, now, with me. It's alright." He leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet and lingering.

She wound her hands through his red hair and let her eyes close. He was here, with her, breathing. He tasted the same, and the hands that cupped her chin were large and pale and gentle. "I thought I really lost you that time."

"You'll have to try a little harder than a bolt in the chest."

She winced. "Not funny, tiefling."

"I'm sorry," he said, entirely unapologetic. He kissed her again, combed his fingers through her sweat-matted hair. "So, what terrible travails will we have to undertake this time?"

She grinned up at him. "Nothing too trying. A trek through trackless and testing terrain, and an impossible quest, and time running out on the surface world above."

"Sounds just like normal."

She laughed. There was still so much uncertainty, so much to worry over; the Seer, Imloth, the rebels, Lith My'athar. And yet he stood before her, his blue eyes bright, and his mouth curled up in a smirk. _What more could possibly go wrong?_

With the Reaper occasionally interrupting, Jaiyan explained their predicament, told him of the True Names, and the terrible wasteland that lay beyond the glowing doorway.

Valen's tail twitched. "Cania," he repeated slowly.

"Cania of the Nine Hells," the Reaper said.

"Yes, I know what it is." He scowled. "Jaiyan, I…Cania is part of Baator."

She blinked. "Yes?"

"I am a tiefling. My ilk spend their time in the chaos of the Abyss. Baator is a place of devils."

"Oh…" Her head was still spinning, and she could not quite work out why he was upset. "I'm sorry, I don't…"

"The Blood Wars," he ground out. "Cania is ruled over by _devils_. I am a _demon_. Part-demon," he amended gruffly. "My blood will be screaming at me to kill anything that moves."

"Oh. Gods." She stared up into his face. His jaw was set, the blue eyes above stormy. She remembered the first night they had spent together, when his eyes had flashed hellish red, and the demon part of him had wanted her in pain beneath him. "Will…will you be alright?"

"I don't know." His eyes closed. "My lady, I…"

"No. The answer is no."

"You have no idea what I'm about to say."

She feathered her hands through his hair. "If you are about to even _hint_ that I should leave you here, the answer is no, absolutely not."

A slight blush coloured his cheeks. "It might be safer."

"Than me striking out into Cania on my own? Besides, what would you do the whole time? Apart from wear a trench in the floor in here from stalking around."

He laughed. "You have a point."

"Of course I do. You're coming with me." She leaned up and kissed him quickly. "Because every time I turn my back on you lately, I think you're dead."

"In that last case, I _was_ dead."

"Will you _stop_ making jokes about that?" She glowered up at him. "Reaper?"

The grey robes rustled. "Yes, Sojourner?"

"Can you bring someone else here?"

The Reaper inclined his head. "Speak the name of the fallen."

Beside her, Valen groaned. "Oh, no. You're going to, aren't you?"

She grinned. "Why not? I'd be depriving the world of a good epic if I didn't. Reaper, please bring me Deekin Scalesinger."

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The doorway floated before them, nebulous and unsettling. Jaiyan reached out, tentatively touched it. Her hand disappeared into it, and she felt nothing, not even the clammy brush of thick fog. "Well, that's not at all odd."

"Boss be making bad joke?"

"Yes." She turned, looked at the Reaper. "Don't go anywhere."

"Sojourner." His voice sounded vaguely unimpressed. "Where would I go?"

"I don't know." She scuffed one foot against the floor. "Reaper?"

"Yes, Sojourner?"

"Thank you." Steeling herself, she stepped through the rippling gateway. Something prickled and jolted across her skin, and the stone underfoot changed, became softer. She opened her eyes to painfully bright light and shuddered.

"I _hate_ portals. Of all kinds." She slitted her eyes and tried to squint away the sudden glare.

"Ooh, Boss, this be very different place!"

On her other side, Valen's hands steadied her. She looked down, saw snow crunching beneath her boots. Sudden cold bit into her, stealing the breath from her lungs and drying her eyes. She blinked and shivered. Ahead of her, all was white. Ice ramparts rose out of the densely packed snow, glittering. The sky was pale, heavy with snowclouds. Jaiyan hugged her arms around herself and swore. "I thought the Hells were hot."

Beside her, Deekin's teeth chattered. "You be thinking of the Abyss, Boss."

"Oh, well. That explains everything." Already shaking with the cold, she was not sure how well they would fare, attempting to travel in this place. Jaiyan prodded Valen sulkily. "Why aren't you shivering?"

He shrugged. "My blood. It's very warm."

"Oh, that's not fair. I was dead a short time ago, and now I'm already well on my way to freezing back there again." She huffed into the cold air, glared as her breath fogged.

"You'll become a little used to it," Valen offered mildly. "Well, maybe."

Jaiyan punched his shoulder lightly. "Nice. Maybe I'll just cling to you for warmth." She raised an eyebrow at him; he flushed slightly. "Come on. There has to be a tavern somewhere in the Hells."

"_Especially_ in the Hells, my lady," Valen murmured back.

Jaiyan led through the high white ramparts, shielding her eyes with one hand. After weeks and weeks of tramping about the Underdark, the white sky here was painful, the snow beneath a crystalline blaze. Beneath her scuffed and battered leathers, she ached. _You'd think being killed would get rid of all those aches and pains that got you to the state of being dead_, she thought grumpily. _But no, off you go into the Hells, and not so much as a bath in sight. _

Up ahead, a large square building rose up against the pale sky. Beyond, she could hear the sounds of saws and hammers, metal striking down against the ground.

"Ice quarry," Valen muttered.

"What do they use the ice for?"

"It's part of punishment of lost souls, mining the ice." He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not a scholar."

"Deekin be scholar."

"Well?"

The little kobold shrugged. "Deekin not know either."

Jaiyan looked past the hulking building, saw huge spars of ice, jutting up from the snow. Between them wandered shapes, indistinct figures. _Souls_, she realized. _Ghosts living out their eternity in Cania._ There were others as well, more solid. Strange creatures with oddly reptilian features, and elegant-looking women even Jaiyan could identify as succubi. A tall devil pushed past them, striding through the snow and looking entirely unconcerned.

"Why aren't we see-through?" she asked out loud.

"Because we've been returned to life," Valen answered. "Your soul is back inside your body."

She looked at him and grinned. _I know what I'd _really_ like back inside me_. She stifled that train of thought before inappropriate giggles could overwhelm her. "Can the ghosts feel the cold, do you think?"

"Yep," Deekin said, nodding. "That be whole point of cold hell, Boss. Cold as punishment."

She watched the souls walking, translucent feet brushing the clean snow. _What must it feel like_, she wondered, _to wake up after dying and find yourself without anything to touch with, or be touched by? Or could ghosts feel things?_

"My lady?"

"Sorry." She shook herself. "Just thinking."

Valen squeezed her shoulder. "I think that's the tavern."

Down a flight of steps carved in ice, and across a broad sweep of new snow, she saw a dark, grated doorway, flanked on both sides by tall stone pillars. Smoke rose from grids laid in the snow nearby.

Jaiyan stared. "That looks more like a dungeon."

She trailed Valen to the pillars, while Deekin hopped along beside her, his small black eyes flickering madly. She glanced down, and saw small plants poking up through whiteness, thin and sick-looking, with tiny red berries like dots of blood against the snow. Clusters of them crowded at the base of the pillars, or near the grate. Looking around, she saw more of them, coiled against stone columns, or else rimed with frost on the ground.

Valen took her arm, helped her past the heavy door, and into smoky gloom below. The warmth hit her first, seeping into her cold hands and feet. She heard the noise next, the thump of flagons on trestles, and the low hum of voices. _Seems taverns are the same regardless of what plane you're on._

But then she peered past the tiefling's shoulder, and swallowed. The shock from the temperature change was not quite enough to quell the surprise at seeing the tavern's denizens. Though, on reflection, given the mix of ghosts and creatures outside, perhaps seeing strange white devils hunched over warm ale was not entirely odd. Jaiyan stared past groups of those strange, reptilian-looking creatures to where a tired-looking, once-beautiful succubus exchanged quiet gossip with a cluster of fluttering imps.

Valen nudged her. "You're staring."

"I don't know whether to laugh or scream." She blinked, dragged her gaze from where a gaggle of spirits seemed to be playing cards.

"You're still staring."

"Hey, I'm just a girl from the north. I don't see this kind of strangeness every day." She frowned and reconsidered. "Well, apart from you and Deekin."

Past the tables, she found the tavernkeeper. All seventeen foot of him, all in blue scales and with impressive, burnished wings. _A dragon_, her mind raged. _A dragon tavernkeeper. _

"Ah…good morning," she managed. "Three ales?"

The blue dragon snorted through wide nostrils. "You haven't been here long, mortal. Have you?"

"Ah…just arrived. Sir."

The dragon's eyes sparkled evilly. "Ale it is. Enjoy your stay."

Face flaming, completely at a loss, Jaiyan pushed a handful of coins across the bar. Numbly, she watched the dragon scoop the money up with his claws. She accepted the tray of drinks and bolted for the nearest table.

Valen sat beside her, regarded her wryly. "Something wrong, my dear?"

"A _dragon_," she muttered. "An honest-to-gods _blue dragon_, as an innkeeper. That's the most insane thing I've ever encountered."

"This is part of Baator. Just wait."

Beside her, Deekin tugged his drink forward excitedly. "It be much warmer in here. Deekin be grateful for small pleasures, you know."

Jaiyan patted Deekin's arm absently. She was about to speak when, half-hidden in a corner, a trio of imps and a white, hulking devil struck up a lurching, enthusiastic tune on lutes and cymbals. Jaiyan dropped her forehead to the table and moaned. "I hate everything." She straightened up, gulped a good two inches of the ale. "We were dead mere hours ago, the big red beast with the ridiculous name is loose, it's freezing cold out there, and I just got served drinks by a dragon. I hate everything."

Watching her, Valen laughed.

Jaiyan glared back, saw the wicked glitter in his eyes, and muffled her own sudden, desperate laughter. She drained the drink in three more swallows and sighed. "Think they have rooms here?"

"Probably." Valen stared solemnly into his tankard. "Though the maids probably aren't….normal."

"Hah. I only care if they have clean sheets." She stretched, felt her shoulders twinge. "Is it strange that I'm exhausted given that I was dead just a short while ago?"

"I wouldn't know," Valen said. "I've never died before."

"Never? Despite being a battle slave?"

"No. I'm not sure my master would've bothered wasting spells to bring me back, in any case."

"Huh. You know, that makes me feel strangely jealous."

He smiled. "Yes. Of the three of us, you're the only one who's departed this mortal plane twice."

She pouted at him. "Yes, yes. Very funny." She opened her mouth to add some snide remark, but a yawn overtook her first. "Gods, I am so tired."

Deekin's fingers touched her wrist. "Boss should go find room."

"And what are you going to do, Master Kobold?"

"Sit down here. Deekin likes taverns. Maybe devil bards let Deekin play."

"Alright." She regarded him briefly. "Just be careful, yes?"

"Deekin _always_ careful, Boss. Well, apart from that drow sword that filleted Deekin, but…"

"Stop!" Jaiyan groaned. "I don't want to know that kind of thing."

"Boss not want to know about Deekin's heroic death?"

"No," she said firmly. "I don't."

Valen laughed. "Go and find a room. I'll get some food."

She met his fierce blue gaze, and read his expression. Her skin prickled delightfully. _Alone. Locked door. No Valsharess about to attack._ With her mind on other, far more important things, she wound her way back through the tables and steeled herself for another encounter with the dragon tavernkeeper.

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Jaiyan let the door swing closed behind her. She made it halfway to the bed before her eyes clouded with tears and her throat thickened. Blinking furiously, she dropped - swordbelt, blade, leathers and all – onto the sheets and sobbed.

This was too much, too fast. She had somehow made peace with Halaster's geas and the Seer's pleas; had even coped haphazardly with the ferocity of the attack on Lith My'athar. But _this_; to be torn from her flesh and home plane and cast into Cania, to be set upon some mad journey to find the Reaper's True Name; and to be enough the coward to force others to join her.

_Others_.

Even head down on the bed, face buried under her hands, she grimaced. Why had she selfishly called them to her? With Deekin, the answer was obvious; he was as much a part of her journey as she herself. Since that snowbound night near Hilltop, Deekin had welded his fate to hers, and his presence seemed the only constant in her life.

_And Valen? _

Her conscience nagged her, that perhaps she should have left him the peace of death. What right had she to call upon him to help her find a way out of this coldest of Hells? To set him, with his tanar'ri blood, upon a hopeless quest in Baator?

But no; she could no sooner leave him at rest than herself.

Her mind opened on a memory, stored somewhere behind old recollections of climbing trees and avoiding house chores.

_Her mother, standing amid flour and milk in the kitchen, splotched with the sunlight streaming through the window. A short, wiry woman, with a back not quite bowed by hardship, and a face lined from the weathering of life. _

"_You find yourself a good man one of these days, child," she admonished, elbow-deep in bread dough. _

_Perched on a shelf nearby, with her bare feet filthy, Jaiyan shrugged. "Father keeps talking about money. A man with money." _

_Her mother's lips thinned. "Money buys pretty dresses. And sometimes no money buys what your father calls poverty." _

_Even that young, with scabbed knees and a too-big smock, the child she had been understood the unspoken; she heard her parents arguing, in the dark hours of the night. She heard the sharp smack of fists against skin, the muffled weeping, the harshly whispered threats. _

"_You'll not be sold to the first merchant who waves a pretty dowry in your father's face," her mother snapped fiercely. "You'll leave here before that, if I have any hand in it. You'll leave here, and when you want to, you'll find yourself a nice young man to settle down with." _

_Her mother had smiled then, a brittle smile full of teeth, bright with lost hope. _

Far removed from that kitchen, and the smell of kneaded dough, Jaiyan choked on sudden laughter. _A nice young man_. She wondered briefly if her mother counted horns and a tail among the attributes nice young men should own.

A knock at the door made her cram her knuckles in her mouth. "Yes?"

Valen stepped in, carrying a tray. "Would you believe they serve harmless bread and meat here?"

"What kind of meat, though?"

He looked up, about to retort, and noticed her red-rimmed eyes. He dumped the tray on the side table and knelt beside her. "What is it?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to show you the river in Waterdeep."

Valen stroked her hair gently. "You did?"

She sniffed and nodded. "So, because a dragon served me drinks earlier, I'm suddenly all upset, like a child with a broken doll."

"We will get out of here." Spoken with such certainty, as he gazed her through those very blue eyes. "And then you can show me the river in Waterdeep."

"And Durnan's inn," she said. "And the forest outside the city."

Valen smiled. "Anything you wish."

She scrubbed at her eyes, mildly embarrassed. "I can't believe you caught me crying like a little girl."

"You _are_ a little girl."

"Hah." She reached past him, found the tray. "Did you tell me what kind of meat this was?"

"No. Nor did I ask."

"Wonderful. That means it probably came from something with six legs and fourteen eyes." Jaiyan eyed the pale sliced meat disapprovingly. "However, since I've been subsisting on broiled rothe for weeks, I fail to see how the culinary delights of Cania will harm me."

The tiefling, watching, was not at all fooled, as she smiled brightly and bit into the meat. "You're afraid."

"Damn you, Valen." Jaiyan sighed. "Yes. I'm terrified. I don't know this place."

"You didn't know the Underdark, and you still went there."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was flattery."

"Isn't a man allowed to flatter his lover?" He found the catches on her leathers, carefully began loosening them.

"Of course he is." She leaned back, giving him room to pull the leather tunic away. "I think those need to be burned." She helped him work his breastplate off, heaved his shirt away as well. The fabric caught on his horns, and she found herself giggling helplessly as she tugged it free of his head.

"What's so funny?"

She flopped down beside him, traced admiring circles on his bare chest. "You."

He smiled, but his blue eyes were tentative. "Jaiyan, I…need to tell you something."

She toyed with his belt buckle. "Mmm?"

"It's something I wanted to tell you before Lith My'athar was attacked, but…I was foolish. I didn't think…"

"Tell me anything you want." Her touch descended, stroking over the inside of his thigh and back up.

He groaned and caught her hand. "My lady, you're teasing me."

She grinned. "I like teasing you."

He rolled onto his side, cradling her against his chest. "My lady, I…" He drew in another steadying breath and looked at her. "I love you, my lady. With all my heart."

"You…do?" She stared at him, aware that she should be saying something, anything, instead of gaping at him. _Well, what did we think? You might have guessed he wasn't the tumble-in-the-hay-once-or-twice type. He's staring at you. Say something, idiot, or he'll think you don't feel the same. _She blinked swiftly, and blurted, "I'm not rejecting you, I'm just shocked. Nicely shocked. In the best way possible."

One side of his mouth curved up, somehow tremulous. "The best way..?"

She bit her lip, threw caution to the winds, and decided to trust him entirely. "Valen, I love you, as well."

He smiled, then laughed, and kissed her deeply. "It is more than I could have hoped for that you return my feelings, my lady." His lips moved against hers again. "Nothing could make me happier."

Her hand found its way to his belt again. "Nothing?" she inquired archly.

He laughed again, unabashed. With quick, agile fingers, he peeled her clothes away while she wrestled with his belt and bootlaces. She dragged his breeches down over his hips, and heard him moan as her fingers brushed him.

"Oh, my love." He pulled her on top of him, and she felt the heat in his skin. His hands moved across her, exploring and stroking.

It seemed suddenly far too long since Lith My'athar, and she wanted him enough that she ached. She flattened one hand on his chest, saw his surprised smile as she pushed him down. "Don't move," she whispered.

He grinned. "I'm yours to command."

She shifted, and her breath caught as she guided him into her. She sank down onto him, and felt him shudder beneath her. "Oh. Gods, Valen."

He clasped her waist, pulled her down for a kiss. His hands caressed her back and her hips as she rose and fell against him. He responded, moving slowly and tenderly beneath her. Jaiyan gazed down at him, saw the flush that crossed his cheekbones, and the smile in his eyes, and it seemed that Cania and its troubles were very far away.


	33. Chapter 33

_Usual disclaimer, and big thank-you to everyone who's keeping up with this story. _

_**Chapter Thirty-Three – Lost Souls**_

_He stared through the bars and wondered what time it was. He had last seen the sun rise over a battlefield strewn with the dead, and had since been confined in the cage in Grimash't's fortress. Sometimes his master forgot, and had him escorted back to his rooms, and there, he saw her. _

_She had lush black hair he never tired of running his hands through, and a smouldering stare to drive a man witless. The sweeping curves of her body were sheened with silk and damask. She had been bought to please Grimash't, and he often saw the demon's eyes following her. He wondered if his master's tastes ran to mortal women, or if he simply enjoyed her as one might a beautiful painting. _

_She herself never said. _

_Even at her most vulnerable, curled against him in the intimate darkness, she would speak only of him, or of her chores, or of gossip weaned from the other servants. He told her of his past, or of battles recently fought on planes he could not name, beneath charcoal skies. He loved her, and had told her so, and had felt his skin burn when she whispered back to him that she felt the same. He had locked the door and made love to her, while she twisted and sighed beneath him. She had pressed hot kisses to his throat and chest and mouth and murmured that she wanted him._

_The door opened, and he looked up expectantly. She had said she would come and see him, despite the cage. She would dodge the guard change and see him, and kiss him through the bars and touch him, and remind him that part of him was human. "Kyreia?"_

_But Grimash't strode in through the door, a retinue of demons following him, and a figure wrapped in a hood. "Expecting someone else, my treasure?"_

_Valen glared. "What do you want?"_

"_Such affront you display." Grimash't stopped in front of the cage. "I've brought someone you know…someone you know very well."_

_The demons pushed the cowled figure onto the floor. _

"_What do you mean?"_

_Grimash't smiled. "What do you think? Did you think I was unaware? Tiefling, your focus slips in battle. You kill less often, and less well. And I see sickness on your face, when you should revel in slaughter. That is not how my soldiers conduct themselves."_

"_I am not your soldier," he grated._

"_No, you're my slave. _Mine_. My treasure." Grimash't's tongue lapped at his scarlet gums. "And I find that your…attention is wavering. I will not have it."_

"_You have me in this cage. Is that not enough for you?" _And only six nights ago, you had me flogged so hard I couldn't stand_, he thought venomously. _

_Grimash't laughed. "No. Of course not."_

_The demon wrenched the cowl away, and Valen's heart lurched. _

_Kyreia. On her knees. Her face and shoulders ribboned with blood. Her robes torn and filthy. One cheekbone was swollen purple, and he could see more bruises on her exposed collarbones. _

Her hair_, he thought madly. _They've cut her hair off.

_And they had; her long, thick black tresses were gone. Rough black bristles still jutted from her skull. The skin beneath was cut and bleeding, and he imagined Grimash't holding her down, hacking her hair off._

_He felt the anger start, swirling somewhere in his chest. "What have you done to her?"_

"_Isn't it obvious, my treasure?" Grimash't dragged a clawed finger down Kyreia's cheek. "She's not so seductive now, is she? Not so enchanting? Not so likely to burn your dreams with thoughts of how she'd look writhing underneath you?"_

_Valen snarled. His hands flexed hard around the bars. "Let her go." _

_Grimash't hauled her to her feet. Her head hung, her eyes half-closed and hopeless. "Did you enjoy her, my treasure? Did you enjoy her willing flesh?"_

_He wanted to tear the bars apart, lunge for Grimash't's throat. "Stop."_

_Grimash't laughed. "I don't think so. I'm going to hurt her, and then I'm going to kill her, and you are going to see it all."_

_He said nothing, only bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood. His head throbbed, and the bars felt warm beneath his clenched fingers. Standing rigid, he watched as the demon dragged Kyreia's head back. Long claws dipped past her throat, slicing through soft human skin. _

_Blood welled and ran, and Valen growled, low in his throat. "Stop."_

_Grimash't ignored him. Slowly, the claws descended again, opening long, curving gashes on Kyreia's shoulders. _

"_Stop. Please."_

_The demon flicked a quick glance at him. "Why are _you_ asking me to stop? I'm not touching _you_."_

_Grimash't hooked his hand under Kyreia's chin and forced her head up. Valen stared into her face, and saw emptiness. Her eyes were hollow and flooded, the skin beneath ashen. _

_She had been smiling, the last time he saw her. Now her face was stripped bare, her eyes rolling and bloodshot. _

It's happening again,_ he thought furiously. _She's going to be hurt and I can't help her and I can't stop him and he'll kill her_. _

_Grimash't's claws slid down her shoulder. A small whimper escaped her clamped lips, and she trembled._

"_Grimash't!" _

_The demon smirked. "Yes?"_

"_Leave her alone," Valen said, trying to keep his voice even. "Have me instead."_

"_You? Why would I want you when I can have you chained down and screaming whenever I wish it?" The demon ripped the robes from Kyreia's shoulders, left her shivering and naked on the floor. "This is far more enjoyable."_

_Valen stared. His stomach was roiling and his head pounded. He wanted to snap the bars like kindling and tear the demon's smug head from his neck. "Stop. Please stop."_

"_Oh, begging are we, treasure?" _

"_Please stop," Valen whispered. "Please don't hurt her."_

_Grimash't dragged his tongue across Kyreia's cheek, lapping at her blood. His claws twisted against her body, and she cried out. "She's delicious. I can see why you took a fancy to her."_

"_I love her," Valen snapped. "Take your hands off her."_

"_From pleading to demanding in three heartbeats, treasure? That won't do. Not at all." Grimash't carved a scarlet line down Kyreia's sternum, and smiled as she shook. "You love her, do you? And she loves you?"_

_Valen gazed at her pale skin, at the dread in her eyes. "Yes. She loves me."_

"_Oh, how touching." Grimash't ran his hands over her, squeezing and kneading. "Do you, my dear? Do you love him?"_

_Kyreia's head turned, and her brimming eyes swiveled. "What..?"_

_Grimash't shrugged. "No searing declarations of passion? You're out of luck, tiefling. Maybe she enjoyed you for your…attributes. Much as I am enjoying her for hers."_

"_No. No, that's not…" Valen's voice dried up. He stared at her, and remembered how he had trembled when she whispered that she wanted him, that she loved him. "That's not true."_

"_Isn't it?" Grimash't ran his hands down the inside of Kyreia's thighs, and she snapped against him. He locked one arm around her slender waist and held her in place almost absently. "But I have it on the very good authority of gossip that you are apparently a rather good-looking individual. Do you think women only want insipid poetry and gifts and promises of a life together? Do you think they never want nothing more than a rough tumble?" _

"_Stop it." Valen shook his head. The anger was surging up, and he considered hurling himself at the bars. "Let her go."_

"_Your head is filled with clouds, treasure. There is no happy ending, no grand wedding, no carrying your bride off into the sunset. There is only that cage you are in, and the next battle you will fight for me, and the blood you will shed for me." _

"_No, I…" Valen blinked, tried to clear his head. _

_Grimash't cradled Kyreia's face in his claws. His thick tail coiled around her knee, yanking her legs wide apart. Blood ran down the slope of her shoulder, splashed onto the floor. _

"_Kyreia." Valen stared desperately at her. "Kyreia. Reia, look at me."_

_Her eyes shifted and fixed on him, drained of all hope. He had seen those eyes sparkling with laughter and tears, and wide and dark with desire. _

"_Reia," he said again, quietly. "I'm sorry."_

_Grimash't's claws hovered over her throat, and Valen understood he had little time. His mouth felt swollen, and he forced himself to keep speaking. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It was never…I never meant for this to happen."_

Should never have spoken to her,_ his thoughts raged. _Should have left her alone. Should have told her to go. Should have pushed her away. Should have let her live.

_Grimash't cupped her chin in one hand, while the other caressed the back of her head. "Are you done, treasure?"_

_Valen ignored him, stared instead at Kyreia. "Reia," he said gently. "I love you."_

"_How sweet." Grimash't smirked over her head. His hands moved, and his claws slashed through her throat. Blood fountained, spilled over his fingers and down her skin. He stepped away from her, and she crumpled. _

_Valen saw her hit the floor, and his mind went blank with rage. Tears or anger or both clouded his eyes. He knew the cage was locked, _knew_ he could not break the bars, but still he flung himself at them. He wrapped his hands around them and screamed. He slammed his fists against the metal until the skin on his knuckles burst and bled, and he could no longer hear Grimash't laughing over the pounding in his head. _

"Valen? Valen, wake up!"

He jolted out of the dream, shaking all over. His mind raced, filled with memories and old grief. He gazed at his hands, was somehow surprised to see that the backs of his fingers were not welted and bleeding. There were rumpled sheets beneath him, and the soft light of a single candle, and he was naked. _Where was he?_

"Cania," he said aloud.

"Valen, are you alright?"

Small hands caught his chin, turned his head. He found himself staring into Jaiyan's blue eyes. "Bad dream," he said quietly. "I'm sorry…I did not mean to wake you."

"It's alright." She stroked loose hair away from his face. "What did you dream?"

_I dreamed of Grimash't killing Kyreia. _"Nothing," he muttered. "Just…nothing."

"I don't believe you." She guided him back down onto the pillow. She leaned on one elbow next to him, wound a thick lock of his red hair around one finger. "You're pale as a ghost, my love." She leaned in and kissed him. "You're trembling, and not in a good way."

He was, and his heartbeat still thundered. He combed his fingers absently through her hair, and swallowed. Somewhere just behind his eyes, he could still see her as she fell, _streaked with blood and so terribly hurt, collapsing onto the floor at Grimash't's feet._ "Jaiyan, I…I don't know how to…"

"Ssh." Her lips brushed against his cheek, and his mouth. "You don't need to rush."

He gathered her tightly against him. _How do you explain this one? After we made love, I dreamed of Grimash't and Kyreia. Yes...that sounds like the perfect conversation to have. _ He ran his hands up and down her back, suddenly desperate, wanting to feel all of her. _Check that she's still alive._

"Valen?" She lifted her head from his chest, and he saw concern in her blue eyes. "Valen, what is it?"

He glanced away from her, and blurted, "I dreamed about Grimash't. About when he…when he killed Kyreia."

"Oh, Valen." Very gently, she turned his head. "I'm here. Talk to me."

"It was long ago," he said gruffly. "Just a dream…"

"Stop." She flicked one of his horns before kissing him again. "Valen. I love you. You don't need to hoard everything away just because you think I won't want to hear about you and another woman."

"I didn't…"

"You're a very pretty tiefling, my love." She grinned at him. "And given how much more ancient than me you are, I'd be more surprised if there'd never been anyone else."

"I'm not that old," he protested.

"You don't know that, though." She smirked. She trailed a hand down his chest, and he shivered in response. "Keep talking."

He was still not used to this, not used to the opportunity – the expectation, even – of talking, of admitting thoughts and memories and fears. And yet there she was, lying in his arms, waiting as he collected his thoughts. She had never pushed him away, had always listened without judgement.

_Never once had she been appalled, or disgusted, or rejected him, or what he might say. _

_So why are we so scared now?_

_Do you really think she's going to get up and walk out of the door and into Cania on her own?_

_No. Maybe. _

He drew in a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know when Grimash't found out about…about us. But he eventually…he brought her to me, after I was back in the cage. He chopped all her hair off."

Jaiyan traced small circles on his chest, did not say anything.

"He…_hurt_ her." Slowly, awkwardly, Valen explained. Told her how Grimash't had taunted him, how he had opened long cuts all over Kyreia's skin, until her skin seemed painted with red lines. "He slashed her throat open in the end. Then he dropped her, and he laughed at me."

Jaiyan's lips brushed along his collarbones. "What did you do?"

"I threw myself at the cage bars until I nearly broke my fingers and my head was bleeding."

"Oh, _Valen_." Her voice was choked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He gazed at her hair where it spilled over the line of her shoulder. "It's alright."

She shook her head. "How often do you dream it?"

"Enough," he said. "And now I start to wonder…I wonder if what Grimash't said was true."

"What do you mean?"

"That maybe she never loved me." He blinked quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Ssh. Stop worrying." She kissed his chin and wriggled closer. "Valen, I…I don't know how you endured that. I think…something like that would kill me."

_What else is there to do but endure? Endure, and wish, and hope that enduring finally brings some reward. _"No," he said. "You're too stubborn."

She smiled, and he saw that her blue eyes shone too bright. "I'm not stubborn. I just have…opinions."

He touched her cheek, and marveled again that she was here, with him. He had followed the Seer out of a desperate craving for some kind of peace, and never once thought he would find anything more. He slid his fingers across the sharp slant of her cheekbone, and into her hair. "Jaiyan, I…"

She tilted her face into his palm. "Mmm?"

Part of him wanted nothing more than to lean forward and claim her lips, and feel her yielding under him. But there was still more he wanted to say, and he was afraid that, if left unspoken, such words might desert him. "Can I ask you something?"

Her hand swept down his flank, searching. "Of course."

Her fingers curled around the base of his tail, and he shuddered. "What's the worst thing you ever did?"

"The worst?"

He watched her expression change, and wondered if she was about to expound on some terrible tale of finding herself waking up in a horse trough outside a tavern with no memory of the night before. Instead, she squeezed his tail, and said, "When I was in Hilltop, a man – a traveler – brought his daughter into the village. Her name was Elione, and she was a pretty, pale little thing, about my age, maybe a couple of years younger. The two of them came up to Drogan's house, and asked for refuge, and for help."

Valen stroked her hair. "Why?"

"They'd been making their way through the hills, and they ran afoul of a bandit group." She shrugged, but her gaze seemed raw somehow. "The girl had been raped, and her father was beaten and had every coin he owned taken. Drogan said he'd help them, and he looked after the girl. She was…so broken. Her eyes were so hollow."

Listening, Valen understood. He had seen the faces of female slaves in Grimash't's fortress, and on the streets of Sigil, and he wondered what they might have suffered.

"Two weeks later, Drogan called me into his study. Dorna was away visiting family, and he didn't want Xanos or Mischa to take this…assignment." She smiled, bleak and bitter. "He told me he was trusting me with it, and that he knew it would be a test. He'd found out where this bandit group were holed up, and that their leader was on his way north. I never did find out why – maybe to sell some loot, or…I don't know."

He traced the line of her collarbones, touched the hollow of her throat. "Go on, my love."

"So he pointed me in the direction the bandit leader had gone, and told me I would be maybe a day or so behind him. All he told me was…deal with him in whatever manner I felt fit. I think I was hoping I'd find the bastard and just gut him, but…things are never simple."

_No, _Valen thought. _Never simple. _

"I found him…no, he found me." Her hand slipped up Valen's tail, found the spaded end and stroked. "He demanded to know who the hells I was, so I spun him some story about how I was lost and travelling and could he help me. He said he'd let me stay the night, and then he'd send me on my way in the morning with supplies."

Valen growled. "Let you stay?"

"I went inside this cave with him, and I didn't know what to do." She shrugged again. "I wanted to pull out my sword and kill him, but…I didn't. I was…I don't know if I was scared, or unsure, or what. But I didn't do anything, except share dinner and a flask of wine with him."

Valen stiffened. He did not like this, did not like where her story might be headed. The image of her, young and untried and facing a bandit, seared him, and he wondered what had possessed her mentor Drogan; why send a young girl on such a mission?

"After we finished the wine, he…" Jaiyan frowned. Her gaze was flickering, not quite meeting his. "He told me he thought me comely, and he asked me my age. Then he kissed me, and asked me how else I might repay him for his help."

Something very like hatred lanced through him. _Kissed her? Kissed his beloved? Put his hands on her, did he? _"Jaiyan, did he..?"

"No. No, he didn't." She shook her head, and he believed her. "I think maybe he wanted to, but…he was all wrapped up in kissing me, and having his hands all over me, and I…I stabbed him in the stomach."

Sudden, fierce satisfaction washed through him. "Good," he said.

"He screamed. I remember that, even now. He screamed. And I just worked the dagger in deeper and told him it was for Elione." She toyed with the end of his tail and chewed on her lower lip. "And afterwards, I wondered…I don't know. I made him scream, and I didn't even know if he'd raped the girl, or if it was the others, or…I just didn't know. But I did it anyway."

"You did the right thing," he said quietly.

"Did I?" She shivered. "I hope so. I thought so, at the time. But it haunts me."

"It shouldn't."

She looked at him, blue eyes anxious. "Why did you ask me that?"

"Because…after Kyreia died, I…did some terrible things." He remembered, sharp and cold, the way he had thrown himself into battle. "In combat, when Grimash't sent us against his enemies…I did some terrible things."

She kissed the tip of his tail. "I think anyone would."

"No, I…" _I tore skin from still-twitching soldiers as they died. I ripped out men's throats with my teeth. I once dropped my flail and caved in a devil's skull using just my hand. _"I did such terrible things."

"It's alright," she murmured. "Valen, I am not going to suddenly get up and walk out because you're a tiefling. Or because you were Grimash't's prisoner. Or because you have a bad temper. Or for any of the thousand and one reasons you think I might."

He stared at her. "Am I that obvious?"

She laughed softly. "Sometimes, my tiefling."

He frowned, slightly disgruntled. "Oh."

She dropped his tail and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Valen?"

"Yes?"

"You look so serious."

He smiled then, and the tension lifted from his thoughts. "I'm sorry. Does my lady like me happy instead?"

"Happy, sweaty, moaning my name…take your pick." She grinned at him from beneath lowered lashes. "Though all three work for me."

Valen laughed. He enfolded her in his arms, and shivered as she kissed him, taking her time and teasing his tongue with hers. She was small, seemed fragile even, pressed against his chest, her warm skin soft and enticing. "Which would my lady prefer first?"


	34. Chapter 34

_**Chapter Thirty-Four – Cania**_

Jaiyan woke to pale dawn light and the odd sensation that her right foot had gone numb and that something heavy pinned her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Valen slumped half across her, one leg over hers, and his head lolling against her chest. His tail was looped loosely around her arm, and his breath against her skin was warm. Carefully, and not without some regret, she rolled him off her, then grinned as he burrowed into the pillows and muttered something. "Valen?"

"Asleep," he said, barely audible. "Not getting up."

She wrapped his tail around her wrist and tugged lightly. "Sure about that?"

He opened one very blue eye. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Ready to strike out into Cania?"

He groaned. "No. Not really."

She swept loose hair away from his forehead. She loved the feel of the strands slipping against her fingers, soft and silken. "Got other plans, have we?"

"Mmm. Yes. They involve you, a bath full of hot water, a bottle of wine, and a bed." He swept a hand down her side, and up over the curve of her hip. "Though I suppose we can't, can we?"

"No, we can't." She kissed him quickly. "Besides, I need some new armour. Possibly made out of fur."

He laughed. "You're too short for fur. You'd look…ridiculous."

She shot him an icy glare, but could not quite hide her smile. "Says the man with the reddest hair I've ever seen."

Giggling, she dodged the lazy swipe he aimed at her. While he checked through their supplies, she heaved her clothes on and made her way downstairs. She found the taproom deliciously warm, and was almost not surprised when the dragon innkeeper inclined his head in greeting. Past a table occupied by card-playing imps, she found Deekin sitting perched on a stool, a cup of spiced wine in his hands. "Morning, Deeks."

"Boss sleep well?"

_Yes, when we were actually sleeping._ "Yes…fine, thanks. Ah, Deekin?"

He sipped his drink. "Yes, Boss?"

"Do you have any more of that potion?"

"What potion, Boss?"

She gritted her teeth. _Damn teasing kobold. _"The potion you gave me. The one that will stop me finding out if giving birth to babies with horns hurts even more than it normally would."

"Oh. Yes. Deekin has plenty."

"Good." She dragged a chair up to his table, sat opposite him. "What have you been up to?"

"Talking to people, Boss." He shrugged his wiry shoulders. "Supplies Boss can get at the quarry outside. And all the ghosts be scared."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"The ghosts, Boss. They all be talking about it. How their souls be stolen away, taken to serve Mephi…Mephistop…big red devil."

Something cold wormed into her stomach. "He's stealing them?"

"To fight for him, Boss. To help him on our world."

She shivered, and wondered if Imloth and the Seer still lived, or if Mephistopheles had crushed the ruins of Lith My'athar already. "This is not good, Deeks."

"Nope."

"You know, I thought we'd be back up in Waterdeep much quicker." She sighed and leaned her chin on her hands. "Not dead and swapping places with devils."

Deekin's eyes glittered shrewdly. "Not all bad though, Boss?"

Her face coloured. "No. Not all bad at all."

"Deekin also got these." He dug a handful of gleaming bottles out of his pack. "These be made from red berries."

She eyed the potions skeptically. "And they do what, exactly?"

"Keep you warm, Boss." He nodded emphatically. "Big blue dragon says berry plants make good fires, too."

"You have been busy." _And you've been doing what? A bit of soul-searching and a lot of tiefling-searching? _"Deekin…I'm really sorry. About all this. About being dead."

He shrugged philosophically. "Boss being silly."

She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and simply sat with him in companionable silence. Valen emerged into the taproom, his flail strapped across his back and his armour gleaming. She saw him scan the tables, his jaw tightening when he saw the imps and devils sitting with drinks. He said nothing, but his eyes were hooded, and she wondered again how he would fare, a tiefling in Cania.

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Outside, the cold bit into her. A brisk wind flurried snow off the high ice ramparts, and billowed the ground before them. The air itself was glacial, and every breath she took tasted knife-sharp. She led along a path carved into the deep, firm snow, and tried to ignore the cold burrowing into her skin. Beside her, Valen strode – _no, _she thought, _he's stalking, like he expects to be attacked any moment._

The track curved up towards the ice quarry, and she heaved open huge metal doors. The wind howled, and she staggered inside, followed by a whirl of loosed snowflakes. Behind her, Deekin brushed snow from his shoulders and muttered something about kobolds not being built for such conditions.

"You new here?"

She looked up, and then up further, into the scarlet-skinned face of a tall, winged devil. He was glaring through narrowed amber eyes at her, and smoke curled from his flared nostrils. "Ah...yes?"

"You're here for the quarry, or what, mortal?"

"No, not the quarry." Her gaze was skipping across the devil's massive shoulder muscles, up to the arch of his wings. _Good gods above, he is huge_. "You sell supplies?"

The devil grunted. "Supplies and armour, if you have the coin."

"Right." _Stop staring. Just get the damned money out. _"You have anything that will fit me?"

"Not much. Have a look." He gestured her past him, into a small chamber that seemed part armoury, part junk room.

Jaiyan sifted through suits of armour, most hung with mail, some in plate and propped up against the wall. "Anything to keep away the cold?"

The devil blinked. "The black one. Leather, there. Woven with small enchantments. Won't keep you alive in a blizzard on its own, but it'll help."

Her hands touched soft, treated leather, and she lifted the armour up. Sheenless black all over, tipped with steel at the laces. Small studs followed the line of the collar and the hem. "You don't know anything about True Names, do you?"

The quarry master grunted again. "That why you're here, stranger? Heard that Mephistopheles had gone somewhere. That got anything to do with you?"

"Perhaps." She held the armour against her and shrugged. "I'll take it."

The devil accepted the handful of gold and eyed her thoughtfully. "Get yourself to the temple. Speak to Sensei Dharvana. See what she has to say to you."

Jaiyan thanked the quarry master after heaving the new armour on. It fit snugly over her frame, and smelled clean and new. She rolled her shoulders experimentally, and smiled as the armour shifted around her. She chose a thick cape next, and picked out one for Deekin as well, in deepest blue.

Back outside, the wind howled. The sky overhead threatened grey with stormclouds, and she spat snowflakes from her lips. Beside her, Valen was rigid, breathing hard. He had one hand clenched on his flail haft, the other balled into a fist.

"Valen?" She touched his elbow, and flinched when he whipped round.

"What?" Small drops of sweat beaded his temples. "What is it?"

She stared into his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," he snapped. "The whole time we were in there, I wanted to rip him apart. It's…it hurts, Jaiyan. My head hurts."

There was nothing she could do, she knew. She saw the strained anger in his eyes and worried. She had seen him fight, knew what he was capable of; and here, in the Hells, every breath he took, every beat of his heart would be screaming at him to _give in_.

"I'm sorry." She slipped her fingers into his.

For a long moment, he was unresponsive. But then his hand locked around hers fiercely. "My love, you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

He shook his head, still grim. "I mean it. If something happens, if I…I want you to promise you'll get away from me."

"What..?"

"I mean it." His fingers tightened, almost painfully. "Promise me."

She stared up into his bright blue eyes. "Alright," she said, haltingly. "I'll try."

"Thank you." He lifted her hand, pressed his mouth to her fingers. "Beloved."

They found the temple past high white arches of snow-covered rock. Tall, elegant spires reached up towards the roiling sky. Lights gleamed through half-blocked windows, and groups of odd-looking, reptilian figures huddled near the closed doors, or else stood near the steps, staring wordlessly at the whirling snow. Walking beside Valen as they approached, Jaiyan tried to quell her apprehension. She had never once been naïve enough to believe they could waltz through Cania and find the Reaper's True Name without any measure of effort, but this talk of vanishing souls and the unbreakable whiteness around her frightened her.

_Just what the hells was Mephistopheles doing up there, anyway?_

_No. Don't even think about that. _

_Can't do anything about it from here. _

She trailed Valen up the steps, and in through the doors. Pale candlelight met her eyes, and some sense of utter tranquility. The air did not move here, but it was not stagnant; rather, all was peaceful. Books lined the walls, and soft carpet muffled the stone floor. Sitting at a desk was a tall, elegant woman in dark robes. She turned her head, and Jaiyan stared.

_She's not human_, she thought rapidly. _But why should that shock you anymore?_

The woman's face was scaled, and faintly green. Dark eyes glittered above a wide, ridged nose, and she smiled. "Do you come seeking the Sleeping Man?"

_Now it just keeps getting stranger and stranger. _"Are you Sensei Dharvana?"

The woman nodded slowly. "I am. Do you come for the Sleeping Man?"

Jaiyan frowned. "Who's the Sleeping Man?"

"Man who sleeps, Boss. Think about it."

"He who sleeps and waits in the temple." The Sensei tilted her head. "He whiles away an eternity and more, waiting for answers to his questions."

"Right." Jaiyan scrubbed a hand across her eyes. "I need to find someone who can tell me True Names."

"Ah." A small, secretive smile lifted Dharvana's mouth. "Then you need to leave this city, and go out through the gates, and into the wastes beyond."

It seemed there was a weight in her belly, and weariness in her heart. "Because nothing's ever simple."

"And so you will need to see the Sleeping Man." Dharvana stood, and her robes rustled. "Perhaps the dreams and thoughts that linger in his mind can help you. Show you the path that you are meant to take."

_Now, we're getting somewhere_. "Yes," she said. "Can we see him now?"

The Sensei laughed, not mocking. "No. You must find the answers to the Five-Fold Mysteries."

Jaiyan sighed. She was tempted to snarl that she did not have the time, that Lith My'athar was probably already in ruins, that Mephistopheles stalked the surface world bent on conquest and carnage. That she did not want to venture out into freezing tundra on the word of a scholar who was not human. That she wanted to be away from this unsettling, frozen hell before Valen's tightly-leashed control was tested any further.

But she did not know the rules of this place, and there was little else to do except give in. She clasped Valen's hand, felt him faintly trembling, his skin clammy. A quick glance at him showed his face to be drained, his eyes fever-bright.

_Hold on_, she thought desperately. _I need you. Hold on._

She looked back at Sensei Dharvana, and saw nothing but still calm on the woman's angled features. "Alright," she said, slowly. "Tell me about these Mysteries."

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Imloth sat in the infirmary and gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles changed colour. Around him, clerics and healers attended to the wounded, and he tried not to listen to half-stifled groans and sighs. Nathyrra sat beside him, her shoulder still wrapped, while the Seer moved among the injured, dispensing healing spells.

Their flight back to the city had been ragged and confusing, a bolt through uneven darkness. They had returned to find Lith My'athar smouldering, while Nathyrra and the others salvaged supplies from destroyed buildings. No hint of the arch-devil or whatever minions he might summon had reached them yet, but every hour that passed, Imloth fretted.

Nathyrra touched his knee gently. "You look like you want to kill something."

He sighed. "I think I do. Nathyrra, how did it come to this?"

She said nothing, but he read her thoughts on her downturned face. The Valsharess killed, yes, but the prophecy lost, along with their saviour, and Valen.

The Seer had taken the tiefling's death badly, Imloth knew. He had found her standing amid the tumbled blocks of the temple, her eyes turned up to the stone roof overhead, and silently weeping.

_He approached her, walking louder than he usually would, giving her the chance to hear him first. _

_She turned, and he saw the tears spilling down the sharp slant of her cheekbones. Her long white hair was unbound, and tumbled down to the middle of her back. "Seer?"_

_She said nothing as he joined her, carefully stepping around blackened lumps of stone. "There's hot food at the tavern," he said gently. "You're exhausted. Come and eat with us."_

_"Imloth…"_

_Something touched him, some brush of shock or excitement. She had never before called him by name, had always maintained perfect decorum. But now, she was standing surrounded by the ruins of her own hopes, and her terrible vulnerability made him ache. "Seer. Please come and have something to eat."_

_She shook her head. "I am not hungry, I fear."_

_He stepped up beside her, wondered if he should touch her shoulder. "You're wasting away," he said, mildly admonishing. "Come on. Please."_

_"I lost them, Imloth." Her eyes were wide and unseeing. "I lost them all. Your soldiers. Jaiyan and Deekin. Valen."_

_"No. You didn't lose them. You did everything you could."_

_"By sending them to their deaths?" The Seer's voice cracked. "Imloth, I promised them peace. I promised them freedom, the Valsharess vanquished, and that Eilistraee would keep them safe." More tears fell, lining the smooth angle of her cheeks. "Instead, I delivered them into death."_

_"It was not your fault," he said fiercely. "Valen knew..."_

_"Did he? I _helped_ him, I _saved_ him, and then I killed him." She shook her head wildly. "And Jaiyan…she came down here a stranger, and threw herself into such trials, for _us_. Yes, I know what Halaster did, but..."_

_"Seer…"_

_She cut across him, her words ragged and trembling. "They _found_ each other, Imloth. Did you see how _happy_ he was? He found her, and then I killed them."_

_"No." Firmly, he closed his arms around her shoulders, held her against him. The embrace was passionless, but comforting, and he felt her shudder. For a long, terse moment, she was stiff in his arms; and then she collapsed against his chest. Her sobs were harsh and exhausting, and he held on through the tremors that wracked her. _

_He was not used to this, what a surfacer would call hugging. Drow did not initiate innocent contact. And he, a male, to put his hands on a female without permission or command? Some part of him wanted to laugh; he had spent his youth in fear of proximity with others, since being touched by a female invariably led to a particularly brutal kind of intimacy. _

_The Seer's arms wrapped around his waist, holding him as if he might be the only thing in the world keeping her sane. He let her cry out her grief against his tunic, did not move even when her hands pressed awkwardly into his back. She muttered something in their own language, something he did not quite catch. He heard Valen's name, and that of their saviour, and then the Seer's body convulsed again, and her hands clutched at his shoulders._

_When her sobs subsided, he remembered something Valen had once said about women, and he stroked her hair gently. She quieted under his hands, but did not pull away. "Come and eat something," he said._

_She raised her head, and stared up at him through bloodshot eyes. "I'm not…"_

_"No arguments." He carefully disengaged himself from her. "Come on."_

Imloth stood up, pried his fingers away from his sword hilt.

"What are you doing?"

He glanced down at Nathyrra. "We can't stay here," he said. "Get everyone together. I'll talk to the Seer."

He found her kneeling beside a wounded drow, her hands clasped loosely over the soldier's shattered shoulder. A flood of pale light, and the broken bone shifted and began to knit. Under her hands, the drow wailed.

"It's difficult," the Seer murmured. "I can heal them, but I can't spare the extra magic to stop the pain."

Imloth reached down, gently maneuvered her to her feet. "How many of the injured still cannot walk?"

"Enough," she answered. "What are you thinking?"

"I think we should leave." Over her sudden frown, he continued, "Seer, there's nothing left here. In five days, we'll run out of food and supplies. There'll be nothing past the water in the river. We killed the last rothe yesterday. I say we pack everything up and leave."

She stared up into his face. "And go where, Imloth?"

He drew in a deep breath. He knew his idea was insane, suicidal even, but with an arch-devil loose, and everything in flames around them, he was not sure how much else they had to lose. "I think we should go up to the surface."

Behind him, Nathyrra's head turned. "What?"

"When Jaiyan came down through Undermountain, she came down through a gateway in the back of a tavern."

Nathyrra straightened up painfully. "You want us to make for a surfacer tavern? In a city recently attacked by drow?"

"I know how it sounds." He raked both hands through his hair. "I just…where else is there to go? Down here, we're rebels, weak and about to die. Up there…I don't know. Jaiyan spoke about that tavern, The Yawning Portal, and the innkeeper, Durnan. Maybe he would…"

"What?" Nathyrra raised a scornful eyebrow. "Accept a group of drow refugees into his cellar?"

"I don't know," Imloth snapped. "I just don't think we should stay here. The Yawning Portal or the Underdark…take your pick."

"And the arch-devil?" the Seer asked quietly.

_Could be anywhere,_ he thought. _Though if he was down here still, I'm sure we'd all be cold piles of ash on the floor by now. _"I think he's already on the surface."

"And you _want_ to send us there?" Nathyrra demanded.

_I want to know what's happened. _"I want us to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere that isn't still smoking. Somewhere that we know we won't starve in within days." He looked desperately at them, and his heart sank when he saw Nathyrra shake her head.

"No," Nathyrra said. "Too risky. What do we know about the surface? And this inn? For all they know, we're responsible for killing the hero they sent down, in any case."

"We are," the Seer said, quietly. Her gaze swung from Nathyrra to Imloth, and he saw steel. "And we will make for the surface. What else is there for us to do?"

"Seer," Nathyrra protested.

"Do you trust me?" the Seer murmured. "After everything that has happened, do you trust me?"

For a long moment, Nathyrra gazed at her. "Yes," she said, eventually. "Yes, I do."

"Good." The Seer straightened up, and something determined flashed in her eyes. "Then trust me, and do what Imloth says."


	35. Chapter 35

_**Chapter Thirty-Five – The Lost Paladin**_

Jaiyan tugged her cloak tighter about herself and swore. The snow was blowing thick and wet and cold, and she was sure her lips were blue. Valen stood braced behind her, his broad frame taking most of the storm's punishment, and his arms around her shoulders. But her teeth still chattered, and her fingers tingled inside her gloves. In front of her, Deekin hunkered down on the snow, his tail twitching like a disgruntled cat.

The day had led them on a bizarre, frustrating quest for the answers to the Sensei's mysteries. Privately wondering if Dharvana was enjoying some cosmic joke at their expense, and if she could smack the serene look from the Sensei's face, Jaiyan had snapped something about ridiculous, wordy expectations and stamped back out into the cold. Armed with nothing past five nebulous questions, she had spent the best part of six hours interrogating any inhabitant of the city who so much as looked at her.

The questions tied to the Five-Fold Mysteries were deceptively, irritatingly simple, and all tied to the Sleeping Man. _Who is he? From where did he come? Why did he leave? Who did he seek? What was the answer? _

Given their experiences so far with the close-mouthed people of the city, she was beginning to wonder if the answer to the Third Mystery might be _because he got really, really annoyed._

Dharvana herself provided answer to the First; apparently, the Sleeping Man was a planetar. Even after Deekin explained what that meant, Jaiyan could not quite understand the look of tranquil pleasure on the Sensei's face. According to the mix of devils and sullen-looking pilgrims she cornered in the ice quarry and at the tavern, the Sleeping Man came from Elysium, left because he never found love, and was currently seeking the Knower of Places.

_Though of course he really isn't, because he's sleeping. Hence, Sleeping Man, not Searching-for-Knower-of-Places-Man_, she thought sourly.

She was cold, tired, hungry, and could not quite fathom why a planetar would leave Elysium and voluntarily come to Cania, which she currently considered the nastiest place in existence.

And no one in the city could rustle up the solution to the Fifth Mystery; _What was the answer?_

_The answer is I hate everything_, she thought. _The answer is that life is monumentally unfair_.

Valen's fingers brushed across her forehead and into her hair, dislodging rimed ice.

"You know," she said waspishly, "I think if the Sleeping Man ever becomes the Waking Man, I'll beat him black and blue just on principle."

Valen laughed softly.

"I'm serious," she added. "Just because this idiot left the green fields of Elysium to come here and conk out for an eternity doesn't mean I should be running around in the cold trying to find answers to the Sensei's questions. And in any case, why the hells can't _she_ just tell us all the answers? I bet she knows. I bet she's laughing at us right now. And _enjoying_ it."

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

"Boss tell Deekin once to tell Boss when Boss gets too silly or too dramatic."

"Oh." She stared at the whirling snowflakes. "Which was I being just then?"

"Both, Boss."

Valen tapped her shoulder gently. "What's that?"

She peered through the snow and frowned. "What's what? I see white on white."

Deekin perked up. "That, Boss. Deekin sees it, too. Looks like…small dog. Maybe. Or lizard."

Jaiyan narrowed her eyes, and made out an odd shape, ambling through the snow, entirely uncaring. Snowflakes had collected on the bumps and ridges of its lean, bony frame, and it reminded her of the strange creatures that had lurked in one of the towers in Undrentide. "Deeks, is it the same as those things we fought?"

"Intellect Devourers? No, Boss. Same-ish, but not, Deekin thinks."

The thing – whatever it was – meandered slowly through the deep drift nearest, and tilted its shelled head at them. Under the huge carapace, dark eyes glinted. The thing was four-legged and squat, pushing its way mulishly through thick snow, leaving deep tracks behind its clawed feet.

The thing tipped its head to one side and stared intently at Jaiyan.

She looked back at it warily. "What? What do you want?"

The thing lifted its skull, and its eyes burned brighter. Its head shook from side to side, and one foot scraped at the snow.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what you mean."

The thing exhaled sharply, and swung its piercing gaze at Deekin.

The little kobold yelped. "Boss! This be the Scrivener."

"What?" She glared at him. "How do you know that?"

"Deekin be looking at pictures in Deekin's head." The kobold crouched down, looked directly into the thing's eyes. "Show Deekin," he said. "Show Deekin what Scrivener means."

The creature fixed its gaze on the kobold, and Jaiyan felt vaguely embarrassed. _Deekin's mind is more receptive than mine? Well, Drogan always said you were thick as old oak when it came to psychic powers. _

"Little Scrivener needs to write names down," the kobold said slowly. "Needs to write names of the dead down."

"So what's its problem?"

"Needs to write names of spirits down, but there be spirit in cave. Frozen spirit, who cannot talk." Deekin cocked his head. "Scrivener needs us to wake spirit up, so Scrivener can write name."

Jaiyan stared. _Should I even be surprised that a small dog-like thing needs us to wake ghosts up for it? _She exchanged a helpless glance with Valen and shrugged. "Go ahead, Deeks. Lead the way."

Deekin and the Scrivener wound a slow path past high rocks and tall, frost-crusted pillars. Beyond a dazzling ice arch, a dark cave loomed. Icicles plunged down from the rocks above, and the air here was still. Jaiyan looked at the Scrivener, and the little creature gestured at the darkness with its head.

Inside, the air was cold enough to turn sword hilts painful to touch, and skin to shivering blue. Jaiyan nestled inside the collar of her cloak and tried not to breathe too deeply. Faint light glowed, reflecting off high columns. Sheer ice walls rose up, curving and elegant. Snow had gathered just inside the cave mouth, but beyond, the ground was treacherously even. Jaiyan reached out for Valen's hand, leaned against him as the ground sloped sharply down. She was no stranger to ice, and its lethal effects, but this was different; there was no traction at all, no rocks poking up through, no trapped grass or ferns. Just flat, silken-smooth ice, descending down into a ring of high boulders.

And, standing before the sheenless wall at the far end, a figure. Locked in ice, and motionless. Even through the crystal prison, Jaiyan saw that the figure inside was a woman, and beautiful. Elvish, too, if she saw correctly. Finely-made plate clung to the figure's lithe, enviable frame, and the sword grasped in one long-fingered hand bristled with spikes. The woman's face was turned up, and her large eyes seemed hollow and desolate as the ice that encased her.

Jaiyan stared at her. "I wonder who she is?"

"She's beautiful," Valen said quietly. "But she looks so very…lost."

Looking against at the woman's narrow face, she saw he was right. The desperation etched in those pale eyes was that of someone who is certain of their own defeat, and soon. "So how do we wake her up?"

"Berries," Deekin suggested. "Berries Deekin bought from innkeeper."

The idea seemed bizarre to Jaiyan, but then, what about Cania did not? She shrugged and motioned him closer. "Can you light them?"

The little kobold piled a handful of dried-out vines and leaves before the frozen woman, speckled with crimson berries. His clenched hands glowed as he whispered the syllables of a spell, and flame licked up.

For a long moment, nothing happened; the woman gazed through three inches of cloaking ice with unseeing eyes.

But then, softly, spider-quiet, cracks ran over the ice, and it fell away. A staggering breath broke the silence, and the woman gaped at them. Her eyes flickered, wary and unsure. "What..?"

Jaiyan saw the woman's hand close over her sword hilt. _Can you even win a fight against a spirit? _"You were cold," she blurted. "So we wanted to warm you up."

The woman's hand tightened on the hilt. "Why?"

"You looked lonely," Jaiyan said honestly. "I wanted to…who are you?"

The woman looked away. A thick sheaf of blonde hair fell across the high angle of her cheekbones. "My name? My name is Aribeth de Tylmarande."

_I should know that name. Why should I know it? _Jaiyan studied the woman's downturned, pale face, and thought furiously. _Did I read it somewhere?_ The recollection hit her quickly, along with the vague sense of guilt. The last she had heard of this woman, she had been branded traitor for her choices, and put to death at the hands of willing victors. "Lady Aribeth? Of Neverwinter?"

The elven woman nodded. "That is what they called me."

"Lady of Neverwinter? Who helped the Hero of Neverwinter?" Deekin hopped forward, eyes gleaming.

"Helped, yes, to begin with." The woman loosened her grip on her sword. "Why are you here, if not to torment me with old memories?"

There was pain in the woman's gaze, and something haunted. Something that carried the burden of terrible choices, and awful things done in the name of belief. _Something_, Jaiyan realized, _that reminded her somehow of Valen._

"We're not here to torment you," she said slowly. "But…I would be honoured if you would share your story."

"My story?" Aribeth laughed, cold and bleak. "Why would you care for my story? Don't you know it already? A love lost, and a choice badly chosen, and a traitor made. What more is there?"

"Please." Jaiyan sat cross-legged on the ice, held her hands out over the fire. "Unless you have somewhere pressing to be, of course."

A faint smile pulled at the corner of the woman's mouth. "Who are you?"

"My name is Jaiyan. Recently dead, made that way by Mephistopheles."

Aribeth's mouth thinned. "Mephistopheles himself? Perhaps…perhaps we should speak. Who are your friends?"

"Deekin, kobold bard," she said, straight-faced. "And Valen, tiefling stuck in Baator."

Aribeth's eyes flickered. "You keep interesting company."

"You don't know the half of it." Jaiyan craned her head. "Sit down, Lady Aribeth. You're making my neck ache."

The elven woman stared at her through narrowed, long-lashed eyes. Then a tremor ran through her, and she sat. While Deekin curled up near Jaiyan's knee, and Valen sat behind her, the silence stretched, still and held amid the glowing ice.

"I was a paladin, once," Aribeth said carefully, slowly. "I became the pride of Neverwinter. Right arm of Lord Nasher Alagondar."

Jaiyan nodded. She had heard the tales in inns, of how a lovely paladin had defended Neverwinter with frightened fervour. Of how she had been called to help the city when the terrible plague threatened. She herself had been in Hilltop at the time of the crisis, and remembered Drogan interrogating messengers for news of Neverwinter, and of how many dead the plague had claimed.

"We needed a mercenary, and put out a call. There was a…a man, at the academy in the city. Brave man. Strong, too. Human, like you." There was an odd, unreadable note in the woman's voice. "Young and brash, but such a swordsman. He was sent into the city, plague-ridden and dangerous as it was, to find the creatures that would give us the cure. But we were betrayed from within, and when the cure was within our grasp, it was stolen."

Jaiyan stared down at the ice, and heard the ache in Aribeth's words. There was such pain here, like the throb of a badly-healed wound.

"And it was with that betrayal, that…" Aribeth drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Forgive me. I go too fast, and hope that details can be missed. But why should they, here in Cania? When the plague began, I was in love. Or…I thought I was."

Jaiyan felt Valen's hand, gently twining in the end of her braided hair. "Who was he?"

"An elf," she said. "A beautiful, compassionate, kind elf. His name was Fenthick, and he was a cleric. A cleric of Tyr, and he loved me, a paladin of Tyr. What could be more perfect?" Aribeth's voice wavered. "He was considerate, charming, caring beyond anything I have ever known. To be loved by him was to be cherished, to be made to feel as if the world could vanish, and all that would matter was that _he_ loved me, and would continue to do so, if all else fell."

Valen's fingers brushed Jaiyan's cheek, and she leaned back against him. "But things that seem perfect rarely are."

"True enough," she said. "He loved me, I have no doubts of that. But I…I fear I loved the _idea_ of him. The _idea_ of a cleric of Tyr and a paladin of Tyr, together in some blessed union."

"What happened?" Jaiyan asked gently.

"He placed his trust in a man who claimed to help us, a man named Desther Indalayne. He posed as a Helmite, and said he was helping us find the cure. As it was, he was the traitor, and made off with the cure upon its creation." Old grief clouded Aribeth's eyes. "And Fenthick believed in him so, believed that all he wished to do was help…Fenthick followed him, and was found there by our mercenary. Desther was arrested, of course, and our hero brought the cure back. And Fenthick…"

At any other time, with any other woman, Jaiyan would have offered a quick, fierce embrace, and the comfort of shared sympathy. But this was Cania, and she spoke to a spirit so riven by heartbreak that every breath she took seemed bladed. "And Fenthick?"

"Fenthick was found guilty of collusion with Desther Indalayne." Fury smoked through every word. "He…he was hanged."

"What..?" That cruel detail, Jaiyan had not heard. "Why?"

"For his blind trust, that Lord Nasher turned into treachery. He was hanged for his foolishness, and I…I did nothing." Aribeth scowled, and her fingers slipped against the ice. "And so the search continued, for those who had sent Neverwinter into such dire trouble."

She had read the books, and heard the rumours; that some terrible lizard cult was behind the attacks. Some group led by a priest named Maugrim, bent on returning the world to the lizard people who had long ago retreated from the northern cold.

"Our hero, our mercenary…oh, he was everything Lord Nasher wanted. Brave and bold, with a steadfast companion who could be swayed by neither gold nor any other temptation." Aribeth's mouth twisted sourly. "And as for me…Tyr stopped speaking to me. I no longer heard his voice at night, nor saw him in my dreams. Instead, I dreamed of Maugrim, and the Old Ones."

This part, Jaiyan knew; the great betrayal.

"So I joined with them," the woman said, flat-bland. "I let them take me, and I became a knight for their cause…a blackguard in their service. Every night I saw Fenthick swinging from that rope, and I knew that I had not loved him, but he did not deserve such an end. Such a terrible end…" Her eyes lifted, bright and burning. "And at the very end, our mercenary defeated me, and took me to Lord Nasher with some promise of clemency. Clemency at the end of a rope, just like Fenthick."

"And you came here?"

"Where else? I am traitor, and all else is worthless."

"We came in here because the Scrivener did not know your name," Jaiyan said carefully. "May I tell him?"

Aribeth shrugged. "What else can I do?"

"I don't know." Jaiyan looked sharply at her. "What have you been doing?"

"I led the souls against Mephistopheles," she said quietly. "I wanted…I don't know. I led them in as fruitless a crusade as any I have ever led. He drove us back and defeated us as if we were nothing."

_What kind of end was that,_ Jaiyan wondered? _To fail, and die under condemnation, and to be damned yet again in the cold of the afterlife. _"Mephistopheles is on the surface…on our world. He has taken my place."

"Then you must stop him." Aribeth's beautiful eyes narrowed. "Why are you wasting time talking to me, if you should be stopping him?"

She smiled. "Lady Aribeth, the honour of your story. Perhaps you could offer a fabour?"

The elven woman frowned. "What kind of a favour?"

"The souls here are lost, and terrified. Mephistopheles is stealing them, taking them away, up to the surface for his conquest. Perhaps you could speak to them, rally them even." When the elven woman opened her mouth to protest, Jaiyan cut her off. "I don't mean call some great crusade. I mean offer them compassion, speak to them. Tell them that Mephistopheles will be stopped."

Aribeth lifted her chin. "You would trust me, a hanged traitor, with such a thing?"

Again, Jaiyan almost wanted to hug her, but something about the fierce tilt to the paladin's head warned her against it. "I would trust a woman of honour."

Something flickered in Aribeth's eyes, some shadow of pride. "Then I will accept."

Jaiyan nodded slowly. "I have something else I need to ask." _Because I've everyone else in this damned city_. "Do you know of the Sleeping Man?"

Aribeth laughed, without much mirth. "What is it you need to know?"

"_What was the answer?_" Simply saying it, Jaiyan felt vaguely foolish, but Aribeth only frowned as she thought.

"_What was the answer..?_" Aribeth stared at the ice, her face pale and sad. "The answer is this, as I have heard it on the air, and in the wind..._She will find you by the gates of Cania._"

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Trudging back through the snow to the tavern, Jaiyan could not rid her thoughts of the unending sadness in the paladin's eyes. Save for informing the little Scrivener of who the frozen cave's occupant was, they had not spoken, despite tracking through snow drifts deep enough to almost lose Deekin in. The blast of hot air through the inn door should have been welcome, but she could do nothing but compare the heat and noise inside to the desolation that Aribeth had chosen as self-imposed punishment.

Sitting now at a table with Valen and Deekin, and her hands wrapped around a tankard, she tried to shake her thoughts free of such things. _It's not your fault she chose badly, or pretended to love Fenthick. Not your fault that the plague happened, or that she swapped sides and was hanged for it. _

"Boss?"

She looked up guiltily into Deekin's black eyes. "Yes?"

"Boss be alright?"

She sighed. "No. I'm thinking…I'm thinking, how easy would it be to be her?"

Valen grunted. "You mean pretending to love the perfect man?"

"No, I don't mean that at all," she snapped. She made herself stop, made herself look across the table, and into his level blue eyes. "You know what I mean. I mean making one bad choice, then another, and then feeling as if nothing good could ever come of it."

"Yes," he said, softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't. I just…is it stupid to feel sorry for Fenthick as well? I mean, he was dragged into this whole mess because he thought Lord Nasher's wonderful paladin loved him."

"No," Valen murmured. "It's not stupid at all."

"Does faith do that?" Never one for explosive bursts of belief in all that might be holy, Jaiyan stared down into her ale. "She was a paladin of Tyr, for the gods' sake. And she fell, spectacularly."

"The higher they are," Valen muttered.

"What about the Seer, and her faith?"

"What about it?"

"Did you ever question it?"

"Always," he said, in that quiet, slow tone. "She knew I never quite believed in her visions. Oh, I believe that Eilistraee is real, along with the other gods. But why gift a mortal drow with visions? For what ends? Such visions and prophecies are so often double-pronged, and viciously so. I believed in her faith, and she knew I did not share it."

Looking at his face, at the serious tilt to his head, Jaiyan decided she could take no more. "Sounds like the relationship I had with Mischa in Hilltop."

Valen blinked. "What?"

"Well, she was training to be a paladin, and I was a silly farmgirl, about her age. We were…not similar. She was irritatingly pious, and utterly perfect. She was beautiful and kept her opinions to herself, and I…didn't. I often turned up for weapons practice hungover, and she would turn up pristine. Wild horses couldn't make her have half a glass of wine. We hated each other for a good five months before I sat her down and talked it all out with her." Jaiyan grinned. "We embarked on a 'respect-the-differences' campaign. I ignored her self-righteousness, and she ignored my temper. We got on surprisingly well after that."

Valen arched a scarlet eyebrow. "My relationship with the Seer never included self-righteousness or hangovers."

"You say that now."

"You look ridiculously impressed with yourself. Do you pride yourself on annoying pure-hearted paladins?"

She pouted at him. She knew he was trying to cheer her up, and she appreciated it. "Absolutely. And anyway, you can't talk. You're a tiefling. Any self-respecting paladin would surely dislike you on sight far more than me."

Valen laughed. "You have a point."

Deekin drummed his claws on the table. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"Deekin wouldn't mind being excluded at this point."

Jaiyan blinked. "Sorry?"

"This be swiftly turning into one of _those _situations," the kobold said severely. "Deekin wondering if Boss and Goat-man should just leave before Boss and Goat-man embarrass themselves."

Jaiyan squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry, Deeks."

"No problems, Boss." His hand caught hers. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

"Ah…" He chewed at the inside of his mouth. "Boss not forget Deekin?"

She grabbed him and pulled him into a rough embrace. "Of course not." She stared into his narrow, reptilian face. "You didn't think that, did you?"

"Nope." The kobold extricated himself, and dodged her half-hearted attempt to trap him in another hug. "Boss _definitely_ be embarrassing now."


	36. Chapter 36

_Usual disclaimer applies - nearly everything belongs to Bioware._

_**Chapter Thirty-Six – Shelter**_

The path led up between high cliff walls, and the sound of feet against rock was muffled by the roaring of water nearby. The air moved, carrying currents redolent more of the surface above than the unmoving stone below. Here, the darkness was almost absolute, and Imloth found himself almost unaccustomed to it. His drow eyes could still sweep the blackness, and he saw the shapes of the rock, and his soldiers behind him, but it seemed odd, that not one light banished the shadows.

The trek up towards the dungeons of Undermountain had proved grueling. With many of his soldiers tasked to ferrying the wounded on stretchers, he was left with a bare handful for patrols. As it was, they encountered little; a scattered group of runaways from the Valsharess' fortress, some undead, and an equally surprised contingent of goblins. Nevertheless, the sheer tension of moving so achingly slowly through the unending darkness chewed at Imloth's nerves.

_Perhaps having all those lights in Lith My'athar was not such a good idea_, he thought grumpily. The blackness seemed to suck and pull at his skin, and he wondered what Jaiyan must have thought, a surfacer amid such strangeness.

The dark halls of Halaster's maze were worryingly empty. Imloth scouted in first, accompanied by some scant few soldiers. The signs of recent battle remained; great swathes of blood, splashed across the walls; and the stink of burned flesh and melted metal hanging on the air. They discovered heaped bodies, mostly drow, with ogres and orcs littered among them.

Imloth knelt beside a dead drow, used the end of his bow to tip the corpse over. His breath hissed between his teeth. "This isn't right. I _know_ him."

Beside him, a drow scout stared. "What?"

"His name was Nalros," Imloth said, blank-faced. "He was young. Had the makings of a good scout, but buckled in close combat with too many foes." _And he was part of a stupid gang who decided to corner our rivvil saviour and try and bait her into a fight. _

"But…" The other drow shook his head. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know what it means. But I know I saw Nalros die at the Valsharess' fortress." Struck by a grim, cold thought, he peeled back the collar of Nalros' leather tunic. Underneath, behind a slash in the fabric, he found a huge gash; result of the arbalest that _he had seen_ slam into the drow and take him off his feet.

And yet here he lay, with his throat opened, and another large, lethal cut on the inside of his thigh.

_This made no sense. Unless Mephistopheles owned the strength and terrible power to call the dead back into service. _

"He uses our friends and allies," the Seer said behind him.

He swung round, glared at her. "I thought you were staying with the others."

"The death in these rooms is not natural," she said, quietly.

"When is death at the end of a sword ever natural?"

"When the one struck down is afforded a clean departure to the worlds beyond the veil," the Seer murmured. "The walls here scream with spirits tied to a second, terrible end."

Never one for the arcane, always more trusting in well-oiled weapons he could feel, Imloth shivered. "The arch-devil."

"Yes." The Seer's luminous eyes flickered. "He calls those who fell at the fortress, and perhaps the spirits of those cut down at Lith My'athar. Perhaps even those who once dwelled in whatever hell he was called from."

"That would mean…" _Mephistopheles has an endless supply of battle fodder, willing or otherwise. And he's headed straight for the surface, and a city full of ignorant rivvil. _

"Yes," the Seer said again, answering the thoughts that flickered across his face. "And what must we do about it?"

_You know damn well,_ he thought. "We go up there."

"Yes. What else could we do?"

_Go back down. Slink off into the darkness. Hope that after he reduces Waterdeep to a pile of bubbling ash he entertains himself long enough with the marvels of the surface world that he doesn't think to look to the Underdark. _

_And how long would that last? A month? Two? Six? And then what? _

"Die later," he muttered. "I just hope the innkeeper in that tavern is still alive, and willing to listen."

"His name is Durnan," the Seer said. "And he knew Jaiyan well."

Imloth straightened up from Nalros' body. He wondered if the curious, empty sensation that had lodged in his chest since the fall of Lith My'athar was hopelessness. He had been brought up to believe in nothing past the fierce thrill of victory in battle and violence, and the quieter, cold success of brutal manipulation. He remembered his mother, remonstrating him for worrying for his brother after a bad injury in the arena. _Was his brother not male and worthless, like him, and whyever would he dream to show such weakness?_

He had been packed off to his weapon master, he recalled, and not allowed back within his mother's sight until he killed his opponents all the faster, and with no single flicker of emotion.

Imloth shook himself, and motioned his scouts back out into the corridor. A careful, meandering hike up high stairs and past cavernous rooms took them through the empty halls of Halaster's maze. They found more dead drow, stacked against the walls like broken toys in black armour. The floor was slicked crimson, and Imloth padded carefully past yet another corpse with a face he knew.

_Do not react. Show no emotion. You're drow._ He drew in a deep breath. The copper scent of spilled blood clouded the air. He stepped over a dead drow's clenched hand, and past another's twisted head, and tried not to look in the open, glazed eyes.

_Taken from their first deaths, and made to maraud through Undermountain at the whim of an arch-devil._

In stark, poised silence, Imloth led through high archways, and finally out through burned gates that hung wide. Here, the caverns were high and echoing, with tall rock pillars and pools of blanketing shadow. A wide platform hung from the darkness above, balanced on both sides with thick ropes.

He tipped his head back and tasted cool, moving air. Up here, so close to the surface, it simply _felt_ different. The darkness seemed softer somehow, the air cleaner. Brought up in an outpost far from the world above, he had never seen the surface, and some part of him was childishly excited.

_Stop_, he thought. _This is the _worst_ time to be getting giddy about seeing the surface. Besides, you're a drow. You're unlikely to be welcomed with open arms. _

He shook his head and firmly pushed back all such foolish thoughts and turned to the Seer. "I want all of you to stay down here."

To his surprise, she did not argue. "Take a torch," the Seer said quietly. "Sheathe your weapons. But do _not_ risk yourself."

Imloth gazed at her for a long moment. "I don't suppose you have a spell that would make me look anything other than like a drow?"

For he did, and almost ridiculously so. _What rivvil innkeeper was going to talk to him rather than gut him on the spot?_ He wore the segmented, close-fitting leather armour of a drow warrior, spiked and whorled at elbows and collar and ankles. His hair was long and laced at the temples with leather braids, and his eyes were pale. Even his bow and sword bore the elegant, dark hallmarks of drow craftsmanship; all curving edges and spiraling designs worked on metal and leather.

"Sadly, I don't," the Seer answered. "Be safe, Imloth."

He opened his mouth to say something else, changed his mind, and shrugged. "Don't go anywhere."

He accepted a lit torch from Nathyrra, winced as the flames seared across his vision. Still blinking rapidly, he stepped onto the platform. His bow was across his back, along with his quiver, and sword was strapped at one hip, a short-bladed knife at the other. _Armed to the teeth, but how else am I meant to do this? _

He heaved on the ropes, and the platform slowly rose, lifting him into warmer air. He glanced down, and saw the Seer's upturned face. Written into every angle of her ebony features, he saw fear. He pulled back from the edge of the platform, and wondered if he should have said anything else, something more comforting.

_If Valen was here, you could've asked him. Except…he was generally as hopeless around females as you are. _

_But you have the excuse of being drow. _

Imloth raised the torch, and the light spilled across the narrowing stone roof above. He gulped down a steadying breath and tried not to think too hard about exactly what he was doing.

The platform ground to a swaying halt, and he was suddenly very aware of the empty air beneath. Ahead, stone steps led up to what looked like a trapdoor. _Good luck if it's locked_, he thought sourly. _Bet they'll all scramble to meet a visitor from the Underdark. _

He moved cautiously onto the steps, listened. His sensitive drow ears picked up moving feet against floorboards, and voices raised to shouting. _But no steel_.

Half-convinced he was about to meet a messy end at the hands of righteous surfacers, Imloth heaved up against the trapdoor.

It gave way, and bright light spilled down. He stumbled, and flinched as the torch in his hand painted odd, wheeling shadows across the floor. He looked up, saw first the shocked expressions on the faces of surfacers. He noticed drawn swords next, and raised his free hand.

"Wait," he said quickly. "Please wait. I'm not…I need to see Durnan."

The nearest surfacer regarded him. He was a tall male whose broad frame rivaled Valen's, and he had short-cropped, sandy hair. "Drow? On your own?"

"Yes." Imloth lowered the torch. His heart hammered, fast enough he was sure they could hear it. "I need to see Durnan."

The man scowled. "Why?"

"I need to talk to him."

"Give us your weapons," the man snapped. "Then we'll see about it."

He did not want to shed his sword and bow, but he knew he had no choice. _But what if they jump at you, unarmed drow? _He studied the man's face a moment longer, and wondered what he thought. "Alright," he said slowly. "Then let me see Durnan."

"Just get those weapons off, drow."

Very carefully, he unbuckled his swordbelt with one hand, let it and the accompanying knife drop. His bow and quiver came next, falling alongside. Another surfacer darted in, scooped up his weapons. A third wrenched the torch from his hands.

The sandy-haired man regarded him through green eyes. "So what do you want, drow?"

"I told you," he said evenly. "I need to see Durnan."

"Yes? Why would a drow need to see him?"

_They're surfacers_, some half-forgotten part of his mind bristled. _Kill them all for their impertinence. _"I need to talk to him. I know about Jaiyan, and what happened in the Underdark."

The sandy-haired man laughed. "You come up here asking for Durnan, and expect us to be all welcoming and happy? You step through that door and expect friendship? You've come up from the Underdark, drow, and too many of your kind have been doing that to Waterdeep recently."

Imloth swallowed. "I know, but this is different."

"Is it?" The man laughed again, edged with bleakness. "Waterdeep is on fire, and you say you're here just to talk? I don't think so."

"Please," he grated. "Just let me see Durnan."

The man loomed in close, and Imloth suddenly realized how big he was. _How big they all are_, he thought desperately. _And how the light's stinging my eyes. And how I should've left myself at least one hidden blade. _

_Stupid, trusting drow. _

"You'll see him," the man said coldly. "But not standing."

The man gestured, and three of his cronies launched at the drow. Imloth ducked the first, twisted away from the second, and tried to deflect the third without hurting him. His every instinct screamed at him to lash out, to snap the man's neck, or land the kind of kick on a cluster of nerves he knew would paralyse.

"Wait!" Imloth darted another lunge. "Stop, please!"

Thick, muscular arms locked around his chest, pinioning him. He should snap his head back, he knew, slam himself against the man's chin and kill him while he staggered.

_But he could not. Not while the Seer waited below. _

He thrashed, held fast against the surfacer's broad chest. "Wait, please! I just want to talk to Durnan!"

More hands descended, wrenching his arms behind his back. A hard kick knocked his knees out from under him, and he buckled. He heard them laughing, and some terrible part of him wanted to leap at them and claw their throats open. A fist crashed against his forehead, and he saw stars.

"That's better." The sandy-haired man gripped his chin. "You drow move like eels. Slippery bastards."

Imloth stared up into the man's narrowed green eyes. "I need to see Durnan."

"So you say."

Another punch landed against his jaw, and he tasted blood. Another followed, and another. His head reeled, and he held on as they tied his wrists and kicked his ankles apart. Someone else landed a blow to the small of his back, and he hissed. A hand locked in his long hair and yanked his head back, baring his face for another flurry.

"Keep his weapons," the sandy-haired man ordered. "Fetch a nice price."

Somewhere close by, a door opened. Through a haze of blood and sweat, Imloth heard running footsteps.

"What's going on?" A hard, clipped voice, underscored by weariness.

The hands at Imloth's back melted away. He strained against the binds on his wrists, and tried to shake his hair out of his eyes. His mouth throbbed, and both cheekbones ached. Blood snaked past his lips. He heard more voices, clamouring that he was just a drow, found sneaking in. Someone else chimed in that he knew Durnan's name, and that of Jaiyan, and how could he know these things?

Fingers touched his chin, lifted his head. When he flinched away, the voice returned, softer this time. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

He opened his eyes properly. He was staring at an older man, with a craggy, lined face, and lowered grey brows. "Are you Durnan?"

"Yes," the man said. "You asked for me?"

"Yes." He spat blood from torn lips. "My name is Imloth. I…I knew Jaiyan."

Durnan frowned. "What? You met her?"

"Yes. When she came down into the Underdark, I met her."

Durnan glared at the other surfacers. "Get those ropes off him."

The sandy-haired man shifted. "What if he plans to kill you?"

"Look at him," Durnan snapped. "You lads did so well for him, he couldn't kill a gnat right now. Keep his weapons and get those ropes off him."

The other surfacers obeyed, and Imloth felt the blood rush back into his hands. Durnan reached out, hauled him to his feet. He took a wary step, and staggered as the pain swept over his battered frame. Durnan propped him up, and muttered, "Come on, lad. Keep on going. Just up here, and I'll have you sat down."

Leaning heavily on the innkeeper, and horribly aware of the wide-eyed surfacers following him, he made it through the doors, and into the tavern. _Not a tavern_, he thought wildly. _Not anymore. A headquarters. An infirmary. _

Durnan guided him past a room given over to treating wounded, moaning surfacers, and through into what had once been the taproom. Ignoring the startled looks of a group of men at a table, the innkeeper propelled him into a small chamber and firmly closed the door.

"Now." Durnan folded brawny arms after he let Imloth collapse in the nearest chair. "I don't like what they did you, given as you seem to know Jaiyan, but you'd better give me something worth letting you live."

Imloth drew in an unsteady breath. "It's a long story."

Durnan busied himself finding a decanter and glasses. "I have time."

Haltingly, while the innkeeper poured him a generous measure of whiskey, Imloth explained. Recounted how their unwilling saviour had plummeted through Halaster's portal, locked into an unforgiving geas. How she had plunged out into the Underdark in search of allies, or enemies to cut down. How she had braved death and pain in Drearing's Deep, and Zorvak'mur. How she had stood beside them when the Valsharess sent her soldiers to destroy Lith My'athar. How she had been there, when they had taken what remained of their forces back to the Valsharess, in a ragged, last-gasp attempt to snatch some kind of victory from so much death. How the Valsharess had called upon the support of an arch-devil, and had been betrayed by her own overweening ambition.

"She's a stubborn one," Durnan said quietly. He topped up Imloth's glass. "And after she vanished inside?"

This part still stung; how he had hurtled into the fortress, to find nothing but blood, and the arch-devil unleashed.

"She's dead," he said, softly. "I'm so sorry."

Durnan stared at him for a long, uncertain moment. "Dead..?"

Imloth nodded, said nothing.

"I never thought…" Durnan sighed. "I never thought it'd be a drow telling me this. No offence."

Imloth shrugged. "I never thought I'd be beaten black and blue by surfacers."

Durnan's gaze sharpened. "Why were you? You drow are quick, agile and clever to boot. You _let_ them do that."

"Not entirely." The whiskey slipped down his throat, burning and painful. "I needed to see you. To tell you what had happened to Jaiyan. And…and I have a favour to ask."

"You do?" Durnan blinked. "The city's on fire. There's creatures out there I doubt a bard could dream up. This place is as like as any to fall soon."

"I've already seen cities burn." The truth cut, that the rebels' survival might hinge on this innkeeper's choices. "I have more soldiers, and friends, waiting down in Undermountain. Could they…could you offer sanctuary?"

Durnan exhaled sharply. "Shelter? For a load of drow? You are joking."

Imloth said nothing.

"You're not joking. How many of you can still fight?"

"Enough. We have some wounded, but we have healers, also, and wizards. Provided your people don't try to hurt us, we'll aid you."

Durnan gulped down a good two inches of whiskey. "And if I say yes?"

"You have my soldiers, at your command." Imloth tipped his head to one side. "We know more than you, I'd wager, about facing fell creatures in the darkness."

"You have me there, lad." Durnan raked thick fingers through his hair. "Alright. This is how we do this. And _only_ because you knew Jaiyan, you understand?"

Imloth heard the innkeeper's gruff tone, and hid his slight smile. "Understood."

"You bring your soldiers in. They stay with you, which means they stay with me as well – take them out of my sight, and I guarantee they'll be picking their own teeth up from the floor."

"Or your friends will be wondering where their heads went," Imloth muttered.

"Oh, I get it." Durnan glared. "Drow are faster than us. Doesn't matter right now, not with me having a tavern-full of men who want someone to blame. If this is going to work, we have to be damn careful. Agreed?"

Imloth nodded. "Agreed."

For a long moment, the innkeeper stared into his drink. "What was she like, the last time you saw her?"

_Desperate. Almost weeping. Hunched over Valen and begging him to stay_. "Brave," he half-lied. "Obstinate. Afraid but throwing it back in the teeth of the enemy."

"Silly girl." Durnan blinked rapidly. "I hope you told her so."

_No, but I think Valen did_. "She did everything she could. And that included being able to drink any drow under the table."

Durnan laughed. "That sounds about right." He scrubbed a hand roughly across his eyes. "Alright. Do you need a healer, lad?"

_Don't call me that_, Imloth thought, startled at how _offended_ he felt. _I'm close on two centuries, surfacer. _"I'm fine."

"As you wish it." Durnan drained his glass, and some determined fire sparked in his eyes. "I'll go with you, then, and we'll get your people up here, and hope to the gods that arch-devil doesn't burn down the inn before we manage it."


	37. Chapter 37

_Again with the disclaimer - Bioware owns all except Jaiyan. And a whopping thank-you to everyone who's following the progress of this story - it's turning into far more of an epic than I ever thought it would, so thank you so much!_

_**Chapter Thirty-Seven – The Sensei and the Sleeping Man**_

Snow billowed around the tavern, and the wind screamed through loose shutters. Every time the door opened, snowflakes tumbled in, along with shrieking gusts, and the cold. Having decided there was no way she was braving the white-out storm, Jaiyan called an impromptu halt to their quest. Half-wondering if the blizzard outside was some trick of Mephistopheles', she leaned closer against Valen's shoulder. He had one arm loosely wrapped around her waist, and she noted that none of the other patrons had so far sent so much as a cross-eyed look in their direction.

_Because people with horns are not so unusual in Cania,_ she thought wryly. _But how would it look, walking around with your arm around a tiefling back on the surface? _

She bit her lip and felt immediately guilty.

Across from her, Deekin's quill dipped and rose as he wrote. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"How you spell 'excruciating'?"

She told him, and asked, "Why do you want to know?"

"Cold be excruciating, Boss. Kobolds not made for snow."

"There was snow around Hilltop. Your compatriots didn't seem to mind that much."

Deekin gave her a severe look over the end of his quill. "Boss and other humans and dwarves lived in Hilltop, too. Boss like living here?"

"Fair point." She recalled that he had adapted to the desert heat far quicker than she; probably because he did not sweat, she thought sourly. _Guess there are times it's good to be a reptile. _

A shadow swung across the table, and she looked up into the narrow, pale features of a leathery-skinned devil. Horns curled up from the creature's forehead, and wings spanned out from muscular shoulders. Reminded abruptly of Mephistopheles, Jaiyan shuddered. "Yes?"

"You're new here," the devil said, low and resonant.

"Yes?"

Livid green eyes flicked across to Valen. "You've got a tiefling with you."

_Well, so much for blending in._ She straightened up and matched the devil's stare. "And?"

The devil's tail lashed. "He stinks of the Abyss."

Beside her, Valen's face stayed carefully blank. She slid a hand under the table, touched his thigh and found his muscles rock-hard with tension. "And your point is?"

The devil smirked. "Does he have a voice of his own?"

Valen growled. "Come outside with me, and I'll _show_ you the Abyss."

The devil laughed. "Arrogant one, aren't you? A half-drop of demon blood won't save you here." He leaned onto the table, stared into Valen's eyes. "Better pray your mortal mistress keeps you leashed, or you'll find your pretty tiefling blood all over the snow outside."

Valen's hands flexed against the table as the devil whirled and stalked away. His eyes were trained on the arch of the devil's wings, and Jaiyan saw a look on his face that meant only violence. _The same look he'd had when he mulched the Elder Brain,_ she thought desperately.

"Don't," she muttered. "Valen? Don't do it. Come on. Don't do it."

He exhaled sharply. "Beloved, I can't stay in here."

_Beloved_. Every time the word crossed his lips, her stomach fluttered. _Don't be foolish. You're not sixteen any more_. _Focus on the important. You know, the tiefling-in-Cania problem._ "Don't you dare go outside," she hissed at him. "You might be able to handle it, but the cold out there right now would flay me."

"Alright," he said, unevenly. "But I can't stay in here. Beloved, please understand me. I want to get up, walk over to him, and tear his head from his shoulders. And while I'm doing it, I hope every friend he has in this tavern joins in just so I can kill more of them."

Anger underscored every word, and she felt horribly helpless.

He pushed away from the table, and she saw that his shoulders were trembling beneath his tunic.

"Valen, wait…"

"I'm not going outside," he grated. "I'm going upstairs."

She watched him stalk wordlessly between the tables. His tail snapped behind him, and she wondered for a terse, awful moment if he was going to make it past a table thronged with devils.

"Boss?"

She jumped, gazed into Deekin's thoughtful black eyes. "Yes, Deeks?"

"Deekin thinks…maybe Goat-man would like some company."

"I don't know." She chewed at one of her knuckles anxiously. "The pose and the glare seem to scream _avoid me_."

"Can't be nice to be tiefling in Cania."

She fidgeted awkwardly. "I thought it was women who were meant to play games."

"What Boss means?"

"You know, not ask for company but secretly want it, that kind of thing. Say no and mean yes. Say yes and mean no. Whichever it is." She sighed. "Maybe I just don't know enough about men. Stubborn men, in any case."

"Tiefling not be a man. Tiefling be a tiefling." Deekin reached across the table and touched the back of her wrist. "Go see him."

"Damn you for reading me so well." She gave him a quick smile. "Will you be alright down here?"

Deekin shrugged thoughtfully. "Deekin survive when Old Boss nearly rolled on top of Deekin."

Jaiyan laughed. "Nothing could be quite so harrowing, I'm sure. Thanks, Deeks."

She squeezed the kobold's shoulder as she stepped past him, and wondered – not for the first time – what Drogan might have thought of him. _Had Drogan lived long enough to know him properly. _As it was, there had been a brief moment - a rushed introduction, followed by a brutal, too-swift fight - and Drogan had died.

She headed up the steps, heard the wind still screaming outside. She paused in front of the door, knocked. "Valen? It's me."

No reply; she fumbled with her key, and opened the door. Cool air washed over her skin; evidently, he had not bothered to relight the fire. "Valen?"

He stood braced at the casement, glowering out at the swirling snow. His shoulders were rigid, and his tail snapped erratically.

Jaiyan crossed the floor, letting her feet scrape against the floorboards. _Come on,_ she thought. _Turn around. Let me see your eyes_. She paused a few feet behind him, and wondered if she should try and touch him. _What if he doesn't want to be touched?_

She shook herself. _Don't be stupid. This is Valen. You know him. _

_You love him. _

She reached out, brushed her hand against the side of his arm. "Valen?"

His head snapped round, and relief burst through when she saw that his gaze was fierce and challenging and brightest blue. "Yes?" His expression changed, softened. "I'm sorry. I…I was thinking."

"It's alright." She studied his face, saw the way his pulse thumped visibly at his throat. "It's this place. We need to get out of here."

"Yes."

Just that single word, ground out between his teeth. She looked at him again, and that wrenching feeling of helplessness threatened to unmoor her. "Valen?"

His eyes flicked across to her. "Yes?"

She stroked the side of his face, found his skin inviting and soft. "What can I do?"

For a long moment, he stared at her. Then he was shifting, sliding his hands down her arms and capturing her mouth in a bruising, insistent kiss. Her back hit the wall as he moved, his lips still sealing hers. He hooked his hands under her thighs and lifted her legs around his waist. "Jaiyan, I…"

Trapped between him and the wall, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I love you," she said breathlessly. "It's alright."

She leaned up and kissed him, and he moaned. Somehow he kept her braced against the wall with one arm, while his other hand yanked at the ties and buttons on her clothes. He had to let her down onto her feet again while he hauled her shirt and tunic over her head and then turned his attention to her belt and leggings. Busying herself with his breeches, Jaiyan listened to the ragged sound of his breathing as he kissed his way across her throat.

They did not speak, only moved against each other, exploring and touching. She discovered his skin to be warm, almost feverishly so, and his hands shook as he caressed her. His tongue curled against hers as he kissed her, and she felt the desperation in him.

Valen hoisted her off the floor again, lifting her against him. There was a fumbling, confused moment while she locked her legs around her again, and he worked out the best way of balancing her. She did not quite know what to do with her hands, so she braced them against his bare chest.

He thrust into her, and she cried out. She gripped his shoulders and leaned her forehead against his shoulder, tasted salt. His hands under her thighs were digging against her skin, and the wall was hard behind her, but she found she did not care. His tail snapped up and around her leg, squeezing tightly. Her eyes half-closed as she lost herself to the movement of his hips against hers.

She heard him groan, and he shuddered in her arms. "Oh, Gods. Beloved, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" She lifted her head, searched his face. "For what?"

"I…" He kissed her softly. "Was I too rough?"

"Oh, Valen." Close enough that she could count his eyelashes, she shook her head. "I love you. I wanted you. You were not too rough."

"But…"

"But nothing." She kissed the tip of his nose. "Stop worrying."

His frown did not lift. "But I was…too quick. You did not….did you?"

She grinned. "So what are you going to do about it, tiefling?"

This time, he smiled properly. He cradled her gently against his chest, carried her across to the bed. There, he made love to her with his hands and his mouth until she arched up against him, gasping his name. Afterwards, amid the tender quiet of warm skin and rumpled sheets, he threaded his hands through her loose hair. "I am not usually so…"

"Hasty?" Jaiyan smirked.

"Selfish."

"You weren't selfish," she told him firmly. "Besides, I think you more than made up for it."

"Good." He kissed her shoulder. "You're right. It's this place."

She looked lazily past him, to where snowflakes tumbled against the window. "It looks less nasty out there. Clearer. Want to go and corner the Sensei?"

"Not really." He turned his head, peered at the whiteness beyond the casement. "Hmm. You're right."

"I'm always right."

He laughed, but she saw the shadows in his eyes. She wanted to stay in here, pull the curtains across, and pretend they were anywhere but in the Hells. Taking Valen outside seemed cruel, but there was no other way to gain any kind of answer, any kind of victory.

Reluctantly, she slid out of his embrace and found her clothes. They dressed slowly and with few words, pausing between buttons and clasps to exchange slow, teasing kisses. She toyed with his tail for far too long, and he spent too much time arranging the laces at her collar. Kneeling in front of her, Valen pulled her swordbelt tight, adjusted her dagger, and used the opportunity to run his hands all over her as he straightened up. He helped her braid her hair, and she ached when his fingers finally slipped away from her.

Downstairs, they found Deekin geared up and waiting, and sitting perched on the end of the bar while he chatted with the innkeeper.

Jaiyan stared and grinned. "Making friends, Deeks?"

The little kobold nodded. "We be speaking about dragons."

"Your kobold companion has some draconic blood in his veins," the blue dragon rumbled. "How long have you known?"

"Since he sprouted wings a few weeks ago," Jaiyan answered.

The innkeeper nodded. "Have you started breathing fire yet?"

Deekin's eyes went round. "Deekin? Breathe _fire?_"

Jaiyan swallowed. The idea of Deekin charging around with flames erupting from his mouth was both hilarious and utterly disturbing. She wondered briefly if he would have to cast fire-protection spells on his belongings. _And hers._ "Is that…likely to happen?"

"Probably." The blue dragon snorted. "Did you think you can pick and choose which gifts come with dragon's blood?"

"Wow, Boss! Deekin might be breathing fire soon!"

She nodded. "I'm terrified for you already, Deeks."

Deekin sniffed. "Boss be no fun sometimes." He tilted his head to one side. "We be going to see Sensei now?"

"Yes." Jaiyan eyed him warily. "And please _do_ say something if you feel a little warm in the throat area, yes? I happen to like my eyebrows. And my hair. In fact, just go and breathe on Valen."

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The sky was pale and crisp, the new snow creaking underfoot. The Sensei's temple was cloaked white, and the soft light showing through the windows looked inviting. Jaiyan breathed in too deeply, and coughed as the cold ripped into her lungs. She gasped out an obscenity and huddled into her cape. "Stupid weather."

Beside her, Deekin surveyed the glittering ice clinging to the temple roof. "Right now it be pretty, though, Boss."

Jaiyan grunted, and privately agreed with him.

Inside the temple, they found Sensei Dharvana seated behind a huge tome, her eyes pinned on spidery writing. "You return. What did you discover?"

Gazing straight at the Sensei, Jaiyan recited the answers to the Five-Fold Mysteries.

Dharvana's face crinkled into a broad smile. "Indeed. _She will find you by the gates of Cania. _The Fifth, and the strongest. Now, do you wish to see the Sleeping Man?"

_Either that or I may just try and throttle that serene smirk off your face_. "Yes," Jaiyan said. "Though I feel compelled to ask…if he's asleep, how much help can he be?"

"Approach him," the Sensei intoned slowly. "And reach into his thoughts. Open your mind to his, and you will learn where you need to go. Where you can find the Knower of Places."

_Knower of Places…so we can find the Knower of Names. Gods above, we'll be in Cania forever at this rate._ "Right. How does one…open one's mind?"

"Be at peace, and restful. Let your thoughts lie open."

_You're asking _me_ to be all psychic and accepting of mystical thoughts? Drogan once said a mind-flayer would be more likely to curl up and weep than try to pry its way inside my head._ She bit the inside of her cheek and sighed. "Alright. I suppose we'll have to try."

"As you wish it." The Sensei inclined her head, led them through the towering bookshelves to a narrow doorway. Beyond, the corridor twisted, ending in a flight of steep steps. Through another door, and the room opened up around them. Lit by hanging silver torches, the chamber was large and arched, the echoes dulled, the air somehow flat.

The room was dominated by a stone platform. Upon which, in the very centre, lay the Sleeping Man.

A winged planetar, lying curled on his side on the cold stone. Half-naked, the exposed skin of his chest and arms faintly green in the odd, silvery light. He was well-muscled, which Jaiyan found strange, given that he had apparently been slumbering for so long. The wings curving up from his broad shoulders were snowy, and what she could see of the face half-hidden against his folded arms was elegant and smooth. His chest moved softly with each slow breath, and she found herself wondering what colour his eyes were.

"Alright," she murmured. "What do we do now?"

Valen squeezed her hand. "Open your mind, apparently."

"Was that a joke?"

"No. Why are we whispering?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't want to wake him up." She crouched down on the platform and peered at the Sleeping Man's tranquil face. "Alright. I'm here. Mind open, thoughts ready. Talk to me."

Deekin hopped up beside her. "Boss, Boss needs to be more…focused."

She squinted at the Sleeping Man's closed eyes. "How do you mean?"

"Like this." Deekin took her hand, and his eyes slid shut. "Be slow and silent, Boss. Thinking of nothing."

She obeyed, tried to concentrate only on the feel of Deekin's small hand against hers.

But there was too much roiling around in her head. _Cania. Mephistopheles. What is he doing up on the surface? Is the Seer alive? What about Durnan? Valen. Will he be alright? I love him. If we have to leave the city and camp out in the middle of nowhere in Cania, we're not going to be able to…_

"Boss!"

She flushed guiltily. "Yes?"

"Stop thinking _things_," Deekin said softly. "Think _nothings_ instead."

She gritted her teeth, and tried to will her mind blank.

"Better, Boss. Keep thinking nothings."

_A wide, open space, carpeted in blood-splashed snow. Devils, in spiky silhouette against the white sky. Smoke in the air, and the spent lives of too many. _

"Deekin, what the hells…"

"That's it, Boss."

She gripped Deekin's hand harder, and forced away the compulsion to open her eyes and shove away the images. _Memories that were not hers._

_There was a woman, a beautiful woman. Standing lost and broken amid the dead, her hands held up to the sky. Tears fell and fell down her exquisite face. _

_A man – no, not a man. A creature, a devil, perhaps, clothed in a mortal's flesh. Calling himself a name he was not. Inciting treachery, and laughing as blood spilled. Plotting revenge against those who had wronged him, and thinking little of using true hearts in manipulation for his own victory. _

Something prickled at the back of her mind, some sensation that she should _know_ this man, this creature. Know who he was, and why the beautiful woman wept.

_The Sleeping Man, leaving the green shores of Elysium, and coming to the cold bleak wastes of Cania. Sinking into unending slumber as he waited for his unnamed beloved whom he could not find in Elysium. There was torment in his mind, and the inexorable belief that he would be loved, and love her, even if the moon fell from the sky first. _

_Something, a strange figure, fluttering amid moving shapes. The sense of darkness and echoes, and knowledge, terrible and painful. Knowledge of all that there is, and where it is, and the agony of carrying it. _

Jaiyan's eyes snapped open, and she gulped down a deep breath. Her eyes prickled, and sweat sprung out along her forehead. She looked down, saw Deekin still holding her hand.

"Boss? What did Boss see?"

"I saw…a place of darkness. Where there was someone who knows too much."

Behind her, Sensei Dharvana nodded slowly. "The Knower of Places. You have seen her. What else did you see?"

"Pain," she answered, brittle. "Battles. The dead. A woman who was sad. A man – I think – who tricked her. And I saw the Sleeping Man, when he came here."

The Sensei's eyes widened. "Truly? Then you are blessed." Dharvana studied her face for a moment longer. "Go down into the vault beneath the temple. There, you will find the Sleeping Man's ring. Wear it, and it will show you your way out into the wastes of Cania itself, and hopefully, to the answers you seek."

With that, the Sensei turned away, gone with a rustle of robes, before Jaiyan could blurt out thanks. Feeling vaguely guilty, she glanced back at Deekin. "Ah…how did you do that?"

Deekin shrugged mysteriously. "Deekin does things, Boss."

"Yes, but…that was incredible, Deeks."

"Well…Deekin knows Boss imperturbable as steel when it comes to that kind of thing. Deekin just…helped things along a bit."

She peered at him suspiciously. "You're making fun of me."

Deekin blinked innocent eyes at her. "Boss! Deekin would never."


	38. Chapter 38

_**Chapter Thirty-Eight – Sanctuary**_

Night closed over Waterdeep. In The Yawning Portal, sentries stood at barricaded windows and doors and stared out into unbroken, unmoving darkness. Where there should have been torches, and watchmen patrolling, now there was only apprehension, and isolation. The city itself was uncomfortably silent, and Durnan did not dare send men out to discover what crawled between the buildings tonight.

The day had been spent pushing back walls of undead. Strange, shambling creatures that moved as if without thought, walking wordlessly into spear-points and swords. Mercifully, the arch-devil himself did not appear, and with the sinking of the sun, the attackers had melted away.

Still, Durnan did not trust the quiet of the night to last. Not when he had spent the day trying to organize the defense of the tavern _and_ the arrival of the drow from Lith My'athar. He had made the same speech several times, it seemed, ordering his men to stay away from the drow, not to panic and assume the worst. But still, the atmosphere inside the inn was thick with tension and uncertainty, and he had spent a good while fending off frantic questions.

_What the hells was he thinking, letting a load of drow in? _

He made his way past the armoury, frowning. He had sent most of them into the infirmary to help, and now he was faced with the daunting task of maybe splitting them up. _Some to the walls and windows, to help. Some to stay and heal. _

_But then what will your fellows do?_

_Leave them alone with a few drow to blame, and what do you think will happen?_

Durnan stamped through the door and wished he could have had the nerve to tell the drow to take themselves back down to the Underdark where they belonged.

But their leader, the skinny one who called himself Imloth – Durnan had seen such exhausted hopelessness in his eyes. _How could you turn a man away when he looks at you like that?_

_Except he's not a man. He's a drow. _

The now-familiar scent of healing salves and blood and soap hit him as he stepped over the threshold. Not far away, he saw the drow leader, crouched down and conferring with two females.

_That's right_, he remembered. _Drow get themselves walked all over by their women. _

They heard his approach, even over the moaning of an injured man near by, and the sound of running feet in the corridor outside.

Imloth stood, all liquid grace and pale, unsettling eyes. His face was still marred with welts and bruises, and his mouth was slightly swollen on one side. "We have a problem."

_Damn right we do. It's huge, red, and making mincemeat of my city_. "What?"

"This is the Seer," Imloth said shortly. He indicated the drow female to his left. "She can heal. Your men don't want her or any of our clerics anywhere near your wounded."

Durnan sighed. "Can you blame them?"

"Not really, but do you want them to die for their own obstinacy?"

The innkeeper looked past Imloth, to the woman they called the Seer. She was small and bird-boned, her eyes huge in her dark-skinned face. The robes she wore would have been rich once, he reckoned. The tilt to her head was quietly defiant, and he suspected there was more than an inch of steel in her. "Then get to it while I'm standing here and we'll see if anyone riles up about it."

Imloth nodded, quietly appreciative. "Thank you. What do you need me to do?"

"Sorry?"

"I'm no healer. I'm a soldier. What do you need?"

While the Seer stepped past him, motioning her clerics after her, Durnan studied Imloth's narrow face and lean frame. He had seen a few drow in his time, though never before on the surface. More than one foolish adventure had led him down into caves that deep enough to be called the Underdark proper. He remembered drow as lethal, fast and almost noiseless. Black shapes moving soundlessly against blacker shadows behind.

"If you're with me, who's looking after your lot?" Durnan asked.

Imloth tipped his head at the other female, the younger one. "Nathyrra."

Durnan regarded the female, and had little difficulty imagining this one as every surfacer's nightmare. Slim and wiry, with a haughty, challenging look in her crimson eyes, her face seemed no different to the female who had attacked Jaiyan in her sleep. "Alright. Looks like she can handle herself."

The female's mouth thinned, but Durnan cut across her before she could speak. "Anything happens, I want you to send someone to find me. I don't want a bloodbath on my hands."

Nathyrra nodded. "Very well."

Durnan fixed his gaze on Imloth again. "You been a soldier long, lad?"

"Long enough," he answered, bristling.

"Then you can come up onto the roof with me." Durnan turned away, led Imloth back out through the corridor, and up the stairs. Past the second storey, where the guest chambers had been turned into supply rooms. And finally up the narrow, winding stairs that opened out onto the roof.

Where they found the night sky still thick with cloud above, and the city lightless and desolate around them. Sentries watched at the corners of the roof, armed and peering down onto the streets below.

With the drow trailing after him, Durnan called out to the first sentry. "Anything?"

"Not for hours," the man answered. "Be sun-up soon."

"What about the arch-devil?"

"Not a whisper." The man shrugged. "Soon as the sun's risen, you want us out in the city?"

"We'll see." Durnan beckoned Imloth over to the edge of the roof.

The drow approached slowly, and the innkeeper saw the odd way he kept staring up at the dome of the sky above. "What's wrong?"

Imloth shook his head. "I've never…you call it the sky, yes?"

"You've never seen the sky." Durnan laughed, clipped. "Gods above. This wasn't meant to be a show-the-drow-the-wonders tour. Give yourself a moment, then I need you thinking."

Imloth tipped his head back, gazed wide-eyed at the black, rippling clouds above. "There's so much of it." He shook himself. "I'm sorry. Go on."

"I need to ask you something." Durnan folded his arms. "You really a soldier, or are you an assassin?"

"Both. More of the former." He shrugged. "I was trained for assassination when I was younger. And in truth, there's little difference sometimes, when drow fight."

"What _is_ the difference?"

"I can handle front-line combat. Nathyrra? She's an assassin, born and trained. I would never put her in the vanguard."

"No. You'd let her sneak around behind and stab someone in the kidneys instead." Durnan sighed. "Alright. So if I ask you to scout out into the city, can you do that?"

"Yes, but I'd be better at night."

"Why?"

Something flickered across Imloth's face, something very like shame. "Because of the sun."

_The sun he's never seen_. Durnan groaned. "Alright. I'll think of something else. Can't really be going around letting you go blind, lad."

The drow raised both white eyebrows. "I'm assuming you mean nothing improper when you call me that. But I _am_ over a hundred and forty."

"Well, good for you and your darkling lifespan." Durnan laughed again. "And I'm nearing sixty, which makes me older than you in _our_ years, lad."

Imloth grinned helplessly. "You win."

"Can you stay up here until dawn? You've got better eyes than my lads, I'd wager."

"Of course." Imloth nodded.

Durnan gave the dark streets below a quick, raking look. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine."

"Then I'll send some food up. You ever eaten surfacer food, lad?"

Imloth shook his head.

"You're in for a treat. Can't believe you people eat so many mushrooms." He went to clap Imloth's shoulder, remembered he was a drow, and lowered his hand. "Send a runner if there's trouble."

He left Imloth on the roof, noticed how the drow perched _right on the brink_, something that made him shudder. Bow in one hand, arrow in the other, with his head cocked like a hawk about to swoop.

Back in the taproom – _infirmary_, he told himself firmly – he found the Seer kneeling beside an injured man. Pale light flared from her spread hands, and the ugly, long gash across his chest knitted. Watching, Durnan grudgingly admitted she was quicker than White Thesta. "You're good," he said, gruffly.

The Seer raised her head, fixed him with eyes that seemed to bore into him. "Thank you. How is Imloth?"

"Holding watch on the roof. He'll be down when the sun's up." Durnan crouched opposite her, watched as she gently enspelled the wounded man into sleep. "Mayhap that's the best way to do this. You hold the fort at night, and we'll do it during the day."

"Perhaps." The Seer brushed her hands against the front of her robe. "May I ask you something?"

Durnan blinked. "What?"

"How long did you know Jaiyan?"

"Oh, that one?" His throat thickened, and he scowled. _Stupid old man. Get a hold of yourself_. "She blew in one night maybe a year ago with a kobold and a handful of coins, and some very strange stories." _Silly young girl, head full of clouds. Drank too much and knew it, and had aspirations of being an adventurer_. "Turned out she'd be on quite the journey. Her and the kobold, they stayed for a while. Two months, maybe longer. Yes, closer to four now I think of it. Mhaere – my wife – she ended up telling them not to pay full for the room. Not when the damn kobold was singing every night, and people were pouring in to see him."

The Seer smiled. "You liked her."

_I loved her. We both did, me and Mhaere. Tamsil, too. _"My Tamsil liked her, different though they are. Were." He sighed. "Kept calling her 'my lady', did Tamsil. Never could work out if Jaiyan loved it or hated it. Told her of my past, all the foolish capers I'd got myself into. Mhaere too, back when she was a proper paladin." He grinned suddenly, remembering the night a mercenary had taken too much of a shine to Jaiyan while she sat alone, watching Deekin play. "Mean right hook, too, as I recall. Took a slug in the mouth to convince one young man he wasn't worthy of her time." He rubbed his hands over his head and sighed again. "Sorry. Talking too much."

"No." The Seer smiled, and her face changed, appeared much younger. "Not at all."

"But _I_ sent her down there. I sent her down to you." He sucked down a quick breath. On the Seer's angled features, he saw grief, and wondered why. _How long did you know her, drow? What can you possibly be sorrowful for?_

_No, stop. Unfair. Stop_. "I'm sorry," Durnan muttered. "I'll just be sending some food up to your friend before he wastes away. Skinny even for a drow, that one."

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Imloth sat on the edge of the roof, gazing down onto the dark spread of roofs and parapets below. Far away, he could see a great, unbroken swathe of darkness that seemed to glimmer; water, perhaps. Other spires rose up around the inn, tall towers cutting up against the night sky.

_The night sky_.

It was so big, so thick with cloud. He wondered what it would look like, fired with sunlight and empty.

Footsteps scraped against the roof behind him. He twisted round, saw a young girl approaching him. She carried a tray in one hand, and he noted that she was taller than him. _Of course she is_, he thought wryly. _You're a drow._

"I've brought you some food," she said haltingly.

He saw her eyes flickering as she studied him nervously. "Thank you. You're Durnan's daughter?"

"Yes. My…my name is Tamsil." She passed the tray across, fidgeted. "You're Imloth."

"Yes." He laid the tray on the edge beside his knee. Heat and interesting smells drifted up to him; whatever the meat was, it was not rothe. His stomach growled, and he realized that, for the first time since the attack on the Valsharess' fortress, he was properly hungry. He glanced down at one of the plates and frowned. "What's that?"

Tamsil followed his gaze. "Mashed potatoes?"

"Oh." He saw her wide-eyed, and smiled. "I'm sorry. We…don't eat the same things you do."

"Oh. Do you need anything else?"

"No. Do you know what time it is?"

"Near enough an hour or so from dawn," the girl said.

She left him to the silence, and the food. He picked up the fork, briefly remembered what his mother had once told him about surfacers and their strange eating habits, and cleaned up the whole plate. There were things that he did not know the name of, and could not even describe properly, but he was hungry, and it tasted good. There was a flask of wine as well, tangy and sweet, and very different.

Afterwards, he remembered he was supposed to be watching the street. He glanced down, saw nothing moving. _What was Mephistopheles doing? Waiting? Leaving? Moving on?_

Feeling happily full, Imloth stared down at the shadows. His mind wandered, and he found his thoughts opening onto times he had considered long forgotten.

He remembered being barely an adult, in a city far from Lith My'athar. A young son of a powerful Matron Mother, he had known since he first drew breath that he was expendable. His mother pushed him into the arena, and training, and seemed ever more surprised when he kept surviving. He found he was quick and deadly with a sword, and faster still with a bow.

There had been raids, and betrayal, and the terrible sense of _something wrong_.

Overhead, while he dwelled on old memories, the sky lightened and changed. He looked up, and saw orange streaking through white cloud. He frowned; _what was happening?_

_Sunrise, _he remembered. _The sun rises, and curves through the sky. It's normal. Don't panic._

The sun lifted over the horizon, coin-bright and round. Yellow light slanted over the high roofs of the city, and the huge expanse of water beyond glittered. The shadows were banished, sent fleeing behind high walls. Half-blinded, Imloth shielded his eyes with one hand. Even through his fingers, the light was painful.

"What are you doing, foolish drow?" A rough hand came down on his shoulder, spun him around.

He peered through the glare and into Durnan's bluff face. "The sun…"

"Is about to blind you, stupid drow."

"It's so _bright_."

"And it's only just up. Come on." Durnan grasped his elbow, walked him away from the edge of the roof. "An archer who can't see is of little use, lad."

Downstairs, he found himself still blinking rapidly. The shape and burn of the sun seemed imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, and he could not shake the sight. _How do they live, with it searing down on them, day after day?_

"Imloth?" Nathyrra leaned up, stared at him. "What happened?"

"The sun. It was like…the whole sky was on fire," he said, still feeling dazed. He looked past her, to the Seer. "Have you ever seen it?"

"No," she answered. "I saw the moon once, oh…many years ago. I went up to the surface, to pledge myself to Eilistraee, and I saw the moon."

"You never told me that," he blurted. He caught himself almost immediately. _Don't be ridiculous. Why should she share everything with you when you're just the commander of her soldiers?_

"Didn't I?" The Seer smiled gently. "Then perhaps someday I will tell you that story."

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The winds of Cania screamed cold and loud, pulling at Jaiyan's hair and cape. Around her neck, knotted with a strip of leather, was the Sleeping Man's ring. Retrieved from the huge vault beneath the Sensei's temple, the ring, when worn, allowed the wearer to see the ghost-like paths of some astral plane. The first time she had slipped the band on, the world had buckled around her. She had grabbed at Valen's hand, snarled the nastiest curse she knew and held on as the outline of _everything_ seemed to glow faint purple.

The Sensei had promised the ring would lead them through the wastes of Cania to the Knower of Places.

_Maybe it will_, Jaiyan thought grimly. _But it feels horrible when I wear it._

And now, while they waited for Deekin to finish bartering with the quarry master for supplies, it felt heavy and unwieldy, hanging just above her sternum.

"My love?" Valen touched her chin, turned her head. "What is it?"

She shivered. "Not much. Just thinking."

"You're worried about leaving the city."

"Yes." She kicked moodily at the snow. "I'm worried about the cold. About how long it'll take to find the Knower of Places. About how far we'll have to go."

The unspoken hung between them, fragile. _About how long a tiefling with demon's blood will stay sane in Baator._

"You're worried about my taint," he said flatly.

"Don't call it that."

"What should I call it?" he snapped. He scrubbed the back of one hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry. You're worried about my _blood_."

On any other day, in any other place, she would have snarled back a waspish retort. But this was Cania, and he was the man she loved. "Of course I am. I'm worried about how you let your guilt chew yourself up everything you so much as _think_ you've done something you shouldn't've."

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then growled, "Have you ever seen what creatures with infernal blood are capable of doing?"

"Oh, stop trying to scare me." She turned properly and glowered at him. "I have just as bad a temper as you sometimes, so don't even try." She snorted. "Ridiculous, feisty redhead."

His eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

_Oh, Gods, he looks so serious. _Jaiyan giggled. "Smile, my love. You look like an angry statue."

He managed to keep glaring for a long moment before his resolve cracked, and his lips curled up. "Angry statue?"

"Angry, redheaded statue." She leaned up, wrapped a coil of scarlet hair around her gloved fingers. "Did you actually want to have a shouting match? Because I can even try yelling as loud as you, if you want."

He laughed helplessly and enfolded her in his arms. "You're wonderful."

She breathed in the smell of the snow, the polish on his armour, and the warm, clean scent of him beneath. "Well, nobody said loving a tiefling was going to be easy."

"Oh?" He cupped her face. "And is it worth it?"

She grinned up at him. "Yes. Especially here. You're tall enough that I don't even have to bother carting a windbreak around with me."

"You're going to joke about the wrong thing one day, beloved." He smiled and kissed her fiercely. His arms slid down her back, holding her against him.

Her laugh turned into a yelp as his tail snaked around her waist. "Too tight! Can't breathe!"

He kissed her again. "Then why are you still speaking?"

Soft footsteps padded against the snow behind them, and Jaiyan heard Deekin's vaguely disapproving tone. "Boss," he said. "Is that any way to keep low profile?"

Jaiyan disentangled herself from the tiefling's arms and tail. "Maybe one day you'll understand, Deeks. You'll find yourself some lovely lady kobold and you won't be able to stop yourself from writing awful poetry and singing at her window in the dead of night."

"Boss." Deekin gave her a look that could have withered mahogany. "Lady kobolds generally do not have windows."

"Sorry, Deeks. Did you get everything?"

"Yep. We be loaded up with healing potions and berries."

"Food?"

"Yep."

"Brandy?"

"Yep." Deekin patted his nearest, bulging pack. "And parchment and more ink for Deekin."

"Alright." Jaiyan squared her shoulders. "Let's find our way out of here."

She slipped the Sleeping Man's ring on again, and winced as the air shimmered and trembled around her. The ground looked faintly red, and ahead of them, rising out from the snow, twin scarlet pillars speared up against the roiling sky. Snowflakes whirled, edged with vision-searing purple, and through the astral gates, she could see the unbroken whiteness of the wastes.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Chapter Thirty-Nine – The Wastes**_

Nearly a full day's march took them between ice ravines, and across a wide, windswept plateau, thick with snow. The sky above shone white, and snowflakes flurried, blown by cold, biting wind. Movement proved challenging at best; Jaiyan slogged through shin-deep snow and prayed she would not wander into deeper drifts. Beside her, Deekin struggled onwards. He was almost light enough to slide along the surface, but she could see that he was bitterly cold, that he shook every time he stumbled, sending snow over the tops of his boots.

Valen fared a little better, with his longer stride and tiefling blood keeping the worst of the cold at bay. Doggedly pushing through the snow beside him, Jaiyan staggered against a softer patch of snow. He reached out, steadied her again. She leaned against him, could feel the heat radiating from him. "You're like a walking furnace."

Snowflakes dotted his red hair. "Keep moving, my love. We can't be caught out here when night falls."

Jaiyan muttered something about heinous cold weather, and trudged onwards. The Sleeping Man's ring bumped against her leather tunic as she walked. She had discovered that wearing it continuously made her head spin and her stomach churn. Still, she was suspicious that the astral pathway they followed might take some odd turn, so she slipped it on frequently enough that her head seemed to buzz, even now.

_Why couldn't they just leave signs, like normal people? Why have it scribed into the very snow with strange magic?_

_Because snow shifts,_ she supposed grumpily. _But it's still not fair. _

She stumbled down a hidden dip and floundered as the snow gave way beneath her. Valen grabbed her arm, propped her up as she found her balance again. "Are you alright?"

She blew snowflakes from chapped lips. "I hate everything."

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He helped her up onto more even ground, while she idly wondered if she should just crawl instead. _At least that way I wouldn't keep falling over. _

She remembered travelling to Hilltop, through snow and ice and nights so cold she had been afraid to fall asleep. Any wood she had scrounged for fires had sputtered damp and lifeless, and she had ended up eating cold jerky and shivering through every breath. Her horse had died, and the guilt had wrenched at her since she knew very well she had given more space in her packs to her own supplies rather than oats. And up there, in the mountains, the grass was under three inches of ice, and everything else was withered with the cold. Still, the poor creature's death had left her with enough meat to see her through to Hilltop.

She recalled the night of the snowstorm, when she had woken from uneasy sleep to find her lean-to coated white. She had toiled through frost-locked trees to the crest of a hill, and stared down at nothing but snow. The sides of the valley rose up into more whiteness, and the sky overhead had been ugly with clouds. She had been convinced she would die, or her supplies would run out, or she would be hopelessly lost.

Jaiyan lurched through another sweeping drift and swore. _You got to Hilltop_, she thought angrily. _You can get to the Knower of Places_.

"Boss?"

She peered up ahead, following Deekin's trembling gesture. Ahead, great ice cliffs rose from the snowy plain. Blindingly white, the ice ramparts were smooth and beautiful, stretching back to the hazy horizon. An archway gaped in the very centre, narrow and dark, the ice above seeming to glow.

And, standing before the archway, a devil. Standing close on twenty feet at the shoulder, with broad wings spanning out from its spine. A thick tail lashed at the snow behind it, and its huge clawed hands were wrapped around the haft of an axe.

"Oh, Gods." Jaiyan drew in a slow breath. "That's…rather large."

Beside her, Valen growled. He was moving before she could speak again, unhooking his flail as he ran. Another few steps, and he launched into the air. He crashed full-length into the devil, driving it back a startled pace.

Watching, heart-in-mouth, Jaiyan wrestled with her conscience. She heard the screech of metal on wood as Devil's Bane wrapped around the devil's axe and yanked. What good, exactly, would it do to try and get between them?

_Dive in between a tiefling and a devil, in Cania?_

"Deekin," she said raggedly. "Give him a few spells."

"Yes, Boss!" Deekin raised his hands. Magic whined, and white arrows burst from his palms. His spell shrieked past Valen's head, burrowed into the devil's shoulder.

The devil roared, staggered back. Valen followed up, smashed the flail against the devil's broad chest. The creature howled again, and the axe swept around, locking against the flail. The devil heaved, and Valen was pushed away, his heels slipping on wet snow.

The devil towered over him, wings fanning out.

"It's too big." Jaiyan gripped her sword, went to bolt across the snow.

"No, Boss!" Deekin grabbed her wrist. "No…big devil be _too_ big."

"But Valen's…" She shook her head. "Deekin!"

"_No_, Boss." He did not let go. "Goat-man be fine." He gestured with his free hand, and a fireball whirred out towards the devil, impacted against the creature's wings.

Valen ducked the downswing of the axe, darted past the devil's flailing arm, and landed a hefty blow against its flank. Another fireball crashed against the devil's head, knocking it back. Valen threw himself forward, raking his flail against the creature's chest again.

The devil roared. The axe spun around, and the haft slammed against Valen's head.

He swayed, and Jaiyan _saw_ the instant his face changed.

Blood snaked down his cheekbone, and he swiped it away. His hand tightened on his flail. His face was frighteningly blank, and Jaiyan wondered if this was how he had looked with he fought for Grimash't.

The axe thumped down into the snow. Valen's flail snapped out, lashed around the haft. He wrenched the axe out of the devil's hands. A volley of acid spells hissed past him, buried against the devil's skin. Shrieking, it staggered back through the snow, tail lashing wildly. A fireball tore through the devil's wings, and the stink of charred flesh rose up.

Valen hurled himself forward again, batted the devil's arms away. Another fireball crashed against the creature. The flail curved in past its flailing hands and sank into the soft flesh beneath its jaw. Valen jerked the flail away, and the devil's skin tore.

The tiefling threw his head back, and Jaiyan saw blood splash against his face and neck.

Apprehension needled her belly. _He's enjoying it_, she thought. _He always kills quickly, and today's no exception…but right now, he's _loving_ it._

The devil crumpled against the ground, its wings flapping uselessy against slumping shoulders. Blood leaked from the ruins of its throat, and the huge hands uncurled lifelessly.

Valen lowered his hand, and more blood dripped from the flail heads. Scarlet drops, falling into the white snow. His hair was disheveled, tugged free of the band that usually kept it back from his profile. _The same colour as the blood_, she noticed uneasily.

Should she go up to him, touch him? Remind him that she was still there, with him?

"Boss?" Deekin touched her arm gently. "Drink this. Be warm."

He pressed a bottle into her hands. Half-expecting the harsh burn of cheap brandy, she instead tasted something hot and vaguely sweet. Her skin tingled wonderfully, despite the cold. "What is this?"

"Those berries," Deekin explained. "Dragon innkeeper gave Deekin bottles of berry juice."

"Oh." She studied the liquid, saw that it was dark red. Even the bottle itself felt warm. "How much do we have?"

"Not much. Drink it slowly."

She nodded, passed the bottle back. "Thanks, Deekin."

She looked past the little kobold, to where she could see Valen, standing braced against the arch of ice, staring out over the wasteland beyond. He had still not spoken, not even turned. "Valen?"

His shoulders were rigid. "Stay there."

His voice held that low, warning tone she had heard before. "Can I help?"

"No," he snarled. "Stay there."

She hated the desperation, that she truly could do nothing, to help him or herself, if his blood did win him over. Any episode involving what he perceived as loss of control left him wracked with remorse and questioning her desire to have him with her. "Talk to me, then."

"Go," he said. "Please. I need you to leave me alone right now."

Stubborn to the core, Jaiyan folded her arms and stepped around him. She gazed up into his white face, saw that his eyes burned that infernal red. He had one hand fanned against the ice arch, the other locked around his belt. "Talk to me, Valen."

"My blood," he ground out.

"What can I do?" Her voice stayed calm. Behind her ribs, her heart fluttered. He was far stronger than her, even without that damned flail. _If his humanity was swept away by the call in his blood…_she swallowed, and firmly decided not to follow that thought through.

"You can leave me alone."

She reached out, brushed her fingers through the ends of his hair. "I'm not going anywhere." She saw him shudder. "Valen. It's me. I'm here and I love you."

His eyes flared. He twisted, suddenly moving fast, and locked his hands over her shoulders. He spun her around and slammed her against the ice arch. She felt the breath drive from her chest, leaving her coughing. "Valen, don't…"

"Leave Boss alone!" Incandescent with rage, Deekin threw himself at Valen's leg and dug his teeth in.

"Deekin!" Jaiyan's voice jarred. "I know you're worried. I know you care. But I need you to let go of him and just watch, alright? Please?"

Deekin's eyes swiveled. "Just watch?"

"I'll handle it," she urged him. "Please, just watch, alright?"

Unconvinced, Deekin pried his claws from Valen's thigh and hopped back down into the snow.

Jaiyan stared into Valen's eyes, and saw nothing of the man who had cradled her close that night before the attack on the Valsharess' fortress. This creature who held her was red-eyed and ferocious, strong fingers digging into her shoulders. "Valen. Let me go."

He snarled. "Why?"

"Because you love me." Her voice cracked. He had been afraid, so afraid, that he would hurt her, that first night; she had let him have all the time he needed. At first there had been pain; but afterwards, when he was himself again, there had been only pleasure and love and joy.

"Do I?" He leaned in, and pushed his mouth against hers.

She forced herself to respond, to let her mouth open under his demanding hunger. He kissed her savagely, bruising her with lips and teeth.

"Valen, stop…"

He pressed full-length against her, and his tail wound around her leg. "Stop, Jaiyan? When all along you cried out for me to _go faster_, _don't stop_, _you won't hurt me_, _I want you_."

"Get off me."

His hands slid down to her waist. "Don't you want me now?"

She glared at him, fighting back her fear. "No, I don't want you now. You're not Valen."

His red eyes blazed into her. "What this is, is always with me."

"Then fight it, damn you!" She wrenched against his hold.

"Oh no, my little human mercenary." There was a coldness in his voice that scared her. "Why fight it here?"

She had perhaps one chance to startle him before he trapped her arms again. She locked his eyes with her own, and punched him square in the mouth.

He reeled back from her.

Jaiyan darted away, drew her sword. She watched him over the tip, saw him smile through the blood she had left on his mouth. "Stay there, Valen."

"I warned you," he hissed. "I warned you not to come."

He lunged for her, pinning her arms to her sides. She did not want to hurt him, not yet, if she could help it. _Who are you fooling? _Some part of her mind snapped at her. _Not hurt _him?_ He's all muscle, and right now, all demon. _

She kept her sword held out wide, until he grabbed her wrist and twisted. She cried out, and the blade fell.

He slammed into her, pitched her over in the snow. She crashed down on her back, felt his weight come down on top of her. He was heavy, and big all over; he trapped her with infuriating ease. "Get off me."

He ran his hands through her disheveled hair. "Why did you ever want me? Was it to bind me to you? The loyalty of love?"

"I wanted you because I cared about you," she snapped up at him. "Because I enjoyed what I saw in you. Because you cared about me. Not because I have a list of men of varying species that I want to spend the night with. No matter what you might think."

His eyes were still red, furious. "And now?"

"You're the animal you said you were so afraid of becoming again," she whispered. "You could take me right here in the snow, and I won't be able to do a damn thing about it. And you know that."

His breathing was hot on her neck. He trailed a hand down her, over the swell of her breasts and down to her hips. "Would you like that?"

She stared up at him, defiantly silent.

"You liked it last time," he said.

"Then do it," she spat viciously. "Do it, and then we can be done with this."

His arms on her relaxed slightly; his eyes were still bright scarlet, angry with indecision.

Jaiyan twisted an arm out from under him and slapped him, startling him. She pushed up on her elbows, drew her arm back, and punched him in the face again. "Now get off me and come back when you're human again."

Jaiyan kicked her way out from under him, turned away. She scooped up her fallen sword, sheathed it. She looked across the ruffled snow, saw Deekin sitting hunched and watching, eyes wide.

"Please…"

Her heart wrenched. She made herself turn back.

Valen, on his knees in the snow. His hair was unkempt and streaked with sweat. His fists were balled on his thighs.

And his eyes were blue.

"Valen…" Her breath hitched. "Are you _you_ again?"

She moved to go to him, but he shook his head. "Don't."

This time, she obeyed. She sat cross-legged in the snow nearby and watched him instead.

"I would have," he grated. "If you hadn't hit me. I would have."

"Then be glad I don't pull my punches." She scrutinized what she could see of his profile; his hair had fallen forward, masking his eyes. She glanced across to his tail, saw that it lay still, curled in the snow. "We should move on. Don't you think? It's getting late."

"I will find somewhere for you and Deekin to sleep." His voice held the dull note of defeat.

"Oh, not again." She felt her temper flare. "Let's not do this again."

He turned his head. "I tried to have my way with you. Not like a man, like your lover. Like an animal. Like you said. Maybe I _should_ stay here."

"On your own?"

He said nothing, gazed only at the snow.

"Valen, look at me." She inched closer to him. "Valen, please."

His eyes flickered, startlingly blue against his pale skin, fringed with red lashes. "My lady?"

"I will not leave you here, you stupid tiefling. Never. Do you understand me?" She poked at the snow with a booted foot. "I wouldn't leave you in the most expensive inn back on the surface, never mind in the empty wastes of Cania." She drew in a deep, steadying breath. She could not quite bring herself to look into his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to help Deekin light a fire."

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The high ice walls kept the worst of the wind at bay. Even so, Jaiyan set up a lean-to, while Deekin coaxed a handful of the velox plants into a surprisingly fierce fire, bright against the white snow. Two hours of harmless chatter later, as the sky darkened into twilight, Valen finally emerged from his perch beyond the ice arch. Jaiyan said nothing, merely handed him a plate with cold meat and rye bread. Across from her, Deekin was writing feverishly, adding to his ever-growing heap of notes.

"It's going to get colder, isn't it?" Jaiyan mused aloud. "As we get deeper into the Wastes."

"It will," the tiefling answered haltingly. "But…you could always cling to me to keep you warm."

She looked across the leaping flames, saw the shy hope in his eyes. "You _are_ rather warm, as I recall." She smiled. "So what do you want to do when we get out of here?"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered lazily. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

Deekin peered over the edge of his parchment. "Goat-man likes Boss again?"

Valen flushed. "Yes. Assuredly so."

Later, when Deekin curled into his blankets and hummed to himself drowsily, Jaiyan beckoned the tiefling over. He had remained at a gentlemanly distance all evening, watching her through the flames, staying reticent. "_Are_ you alright?"

He settled down on the blankets beside her. He gazed out at the tumbled snow, snatched by the howling wind. "Yes, my lady."

She flicked one of his horns lightly. "I thought we were past that."

"Yes, my love."

"That's better." She stretched out beside him, facing him, but did not push too close to him. She wanted him to be the first to break that barrier, that distance; to feel comfortable enough to do it. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"What did it feel like?"

His gaze darkened, skipped away from her. "A compulsion. A compulsion without words. Just a…feeling. As simple and easy as breathing. To do the things you know will hurt the most. The more you know someone, the more you know exactly what will hurt them." He clasped his hands together. "Much of it is far more simple than that."

"What, see baatezu, kill on sight?" Jaiyan smiled gently.

"Succinctly put." Valen sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Most of the time, it is some clear _other_ part. But then, when it happens, when it takes control…it is no longer other. It is simply…me."

"And there is truly nothing we can do? Other than hit you very hard when it happens?"

"I fear for the day when that will no longer be enough." His eyes lifted, locked with hers. "It will get worse, as we go deeper into Cania. What if I succeeded, my love? What if I took from you by force that which only you should give?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I hope I would forgive you."

"Thank you for your candor." His smile turned sad. "And if you could not? Or if I did worse, and killed you?"

"Oh, Hells, Valen." She scowled at him. "You haven't _done_ anything to me yet. I swear, you despair any more, and I'll…I'll dock your tail."

His eyebrows shot up. "You'll what?"

She grabbed his tail, where it lay curled gently over his leg. She slid her fingers up the long, soft length of it, tracing the shape of the spaded end. "Perhaps not," she conceded, smirking. "I rather like it. Besides, you'd probably lose your balance and keep falling over without it. Do you know, I was always rather entranced by it."

"Entranced. Obviously." His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Well, distracted, perhaps." She grinned mischievously. "It's not like I've seen many men with tails before. Besides," she added, and gently kissed the tip, "I couldn't help but wonder exactly _how_ the tail fit into…everything else." She felt a shudder ripple through him. "What does it feel like? Having a tail?"

"I've never not had one," he answered. "I don't really know."

She loosened her grip on his tail, and it slid down and settled around her waist. "I thought I'd lost you, at the Valsharess' fortress. Still, it made me angry enough to beat the living hells out of her."

Valen smiled tentatively. "I can imagine. I was worried, thinking of it…you, alone against the Valsharess."

"Hah," she scoffed mildly. "A bitch wearing decorative armour that enhanced only one thing…well, two things…and carrying a _whip_, for the Gods' sakes. Of course, my plan to come charging back out through the door and rescue you was somewhat curtailed when Mephistopheles turned me into a pool of twitching flesh on the floor."

Valen winced. "Delightful as always, my love."

"I saw you die," she whispered. "Right in front of me. I wanted that drow harpy to suffer."

"I actually didn't die in front of you," he pointed out. "If you want to be very particular, I didn't die until after you'd been taken inside the fortress."

"Not the point," she said. "You were…gods, Valen. I saw blood running out of your mouth. You couldn't even _speak_."

He reached out, traced the shape of her face. "You called me back here." He cupped her chin, trailed his fingers down to the hollow of her throat. His face fell when he saw the marks his teeth had left on her skin. He snatched his hand away as if burned.

"It's alright," she murmured. "I don't want you to do anything. I think I understand how hard it would be for you. But I would like you to let me lie beside you."

As if he did not quite trust himself to speak, Valen gestured with one arm. She rolled across onto his blankets and settled her back against his chest. He gently moved her braid over her other shoulder and clasped his arm around her waist.

Jaiyan felt his breathing steady on the back of her neck. "You really _are_ very warm."

He said nothing, but she felt his lips brush her hair. She stared out through the gap of the lean-to. She could hear the wind keening, and the fire crackling, and Valen's breathing steadying behind her as he slept. His hand at her waist was slack, and she gently traced her fingers along his wrist.

She still trusted him, still believed that he loved her. _But what was she supposed to do? _Every enemy they encountered, every devil they fought, the thing that lived inside his blood would turn him into someone else.

_Someone else she did not know. Someone else she was afraid of_.

And what if, like today, he could not bring himself back from it?

Jaiyan squeezed his hand, heard him murmur something, perhaps her name. The knot of tension in her stomach had not quite subsided, and she knew it would be long before she could sleep. So she lay there, with his solid warmth pressed against her back, and her eyes fixed on the snow that tumbled beyond.


	40. Chapter 40

_This story just crossed the 300 page mark - I don't know whether to be excited or terrified! Disclaimer still applies, and big big thank-yous to everyone who's sticking with it. _

_**Chapter Forty – Rain**_

Late afternoon sunlight slanted in through small gaps in the boards hammered over the window. Imloth found himself captivated, staring at it blankly, at the way it splotched against the table he was sitting at, at the way it painted small gold circles on the floor. Tentatively, he held out a hand, and watched as the sunlight burnished his skin. He wondered idly if it would feel hotter standing in the full flood of it outside.

Fabric rustled as the Seer sat beside him. "Are you sure about this?"

She meant his agreement to Durnan's plans; to venture out into the city once the sun set, and discover the whereabouts of the arch-devil. "Yes. I'm sure."

"And how many scouts will you be taking with you?"

"None. We've already talked about this." None, because he thought they already had too few left. If the inn was attacked again, all of his drow would be needed in defense.

"This is not wise," the Seer said gently.

"Why? Do you foresee a violent death for me?" Something flickered across her face, some flash of hurt, and guilt prickled at him. "I'm sorry. I just…this is all very strange to me."

She studied him sharply. "Are you still in pain?"

"You mean my face? No," he lied. "Not really."

She reached out, clasped his chin and held in him place while she surveyed him. "You're going out into that city. You cannot afford distractions, and you know it." Her gaze moved across the welts on his forehead, down to the scabbing around his mouth. She murmured something soft, and warm magic washed over him. The ache in the small of his back dissipated, along with the gnawing throb in his left calf.

The Seer's fingers lingered on his face. "Better," she said, softly.

Heat rushed into his cheeks. "Thank you."

He searched helplessly for something to say. _What exactly would you talk about anyway? Tell her how nice her robes look? Females don't like unprompted compliments, and her robes would look better burned, and she knows it. _"Seer?"

"Yes, Imloth?"

He stared down at his hands, loosely clasped on the table. "Would you…tell me what happened when you went up onto the surface?"

She smiled. "Of course. It was a long time ago. I was much, much younger. And reckless enough to venture up alone. I'd heard the stories, of how one can reach the surface, wait for nightfall, and pledge devotion. Eilistraee had touched my dreams, and I _knew_ I had to see the moonlight. Do you know what I mean?"

He did; that terrible, long-ago night when he had fled his city and his family, he _knew_ he had to find Lith My'athar, find the rebels who might take him in. He had bolted too loud and too fast through caves and passageways until he had heard running feet behind him. He had backed himself up against a high cliff wall and waited.

And his heart had twisted when he saw the following patrol was led by one of his brothers.

"Imloth?"

He flinched. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

The Seer tilted her head to one side. "What are you thinking about?"

"I…" _There was seven of them, Istorvir included, and I killed them all_. "Nothing."

"Tell me," she said.

"I…when I came to Lith My'athar," he said, heavily. "It took me forty-five days. Three days in, I was caught by a patrol, sent by my mother."

"She was a great Matron, you said."

"Yes. She sent six assassins…and my brother, Istorvir."

_They caught up to him, and circled him. He begged his brother to let him go, to just go back home and tell their mother he had found nothing. _

"_You are asking me to return empty-handed?" Istorvir shook his head. "No. My soldiers will be executed. She'll have me whipped until the skin's hanging off my ribs. You know this."_

_Of course he did. He had himself suffered such a punishment, and more than once. "You have to let me go."_

"_And where will you flee to, brother mine?" Istorvir glanced up at the cliff wall behind. "To die in the darkness? To betray us to some other city? Where? Eryndlyn? Menzoberranzan? Somewhere further away? Chaulssin? Where will you go?"_

Somewhere else_, he thought grimly. "Istorvir. Step aside."_

"_I can't."_

"_And neither can I." Imloth gazed sadly over the point of his sword. He knew Istorvir dare not risk their mother's wrath, but the only other option was death. "Farewell, brother."_

_There had been blood on the stones, and choked-off screams in the darkness. He chopped through the assassins swiftly, taking the first's head off and driving his sword in through the throat of the second, all in the same motion. The next four fell, coughing on blood and collapsing against the cold, uncaring stone. _

_Istorvir was last, and Imloth killed him quickly and cleanly, a single sword-thrust through the base of his neck. _

_Then there had been the terrible, forty-two days of hurtling through the dark caverns, desperately avoiding drow patrols, dodging slaver parties, staying clear of beholder nests. He barely ate, and when he staggered up to the gates of Lith My'athar, he finally realized his armour hung too loose on his frame, and his that stomach was knotting painfully. _

"I remember meeting you at the gates," the Seer murmured.

"Yes…you called me by name," he recalled. _And then stopped_, he thought treacherously. _Once I was your Commander, you stopped_. "And you let me rest."

The Seer smiled. "What were you expecting?"

_To be whipped. To be sent back out into the Underdark. To be put to work_. "I'm not sure."

_The Seer met him at the gates. His knees had buckled, and his hands were braced against the ground. He ached all over, and he wondered if the drow inside Lith My'athar would accept him or kill him. He suspected the latter, but at this point he was almost too exhausted to care. _

_She raised him to his feet again, and looked into his face. "Your name is Imloth," she said. "Come inside."_

A shadow swung across the table, and Durnan raised his eyebrows at the two drow. "You both look like I just killed your favourite puppy."

Imloth blinked. "My favourite what?"

"Small dog." Durnan's gaze shifted from Imloth to the Seer. "Sun's on its way down. You ready, lad?"

"Yes. I need more arrows, though."

"I'll take you by the armoury on your way out."

Imloth pushed up from the table. "Alright. Did your men report anything today?"

"A few undead." Durnan grimaced. "Most of them drow."

Imloth nodded slowly. "That's to be expected. The arch-devil?"

Durnan shrugged uncomfortably. "Nothing." He glanced at the Seer again. "Don't worry. I'll bring your boy back safe and sound."

Before Imloth could bristle at that, the innkeeper motioned him away from the table. In the armoury, he strapped his armour back on, and noticed how Durnan watched him buckle on the serpentine pieces that covered the tops of his thighs and his shoulders. "What is it?"

Durnan shook his head. "I only ever saw armoured drow over the end of a sword before."

Imloth laughed and snapped the last clasp closed. "And I never saw a human outside of a slaver pen before Jaiyan fell into the temple."

Durnan grunted. "Never?"

"No. We had a tiefling with us…" Imloth swallowed hard. "Lost him back in the Underdark. He was…almost human." He hooked up a handful of arrows, admired the red fletching.

"You wear your quiver strange," Durnan stated.

The drow touched the whorled, oiled top of his quiver where it hung halfway down his back, angled just above his hip. "Do I? In caves, there's not much room to move. You lift your arm too high, and you lose it."

"Suppose so. You ready?"

Imloth rolled his shoulders, let his armour settle. "Yes."

At the main doors, Durnan motioned to the two sentries at the barricade. They had already pulled the blockade aside, and now they heaved the doors open. Fading light flooded through the gap, and Imloth winced.

"You going to be alright?"

The drow blinked rapidly. "How long will it last?"

"Gone below the horizon already," Durnan answered gruffly. "You'll have plenty of darkness soon."

"Alright." Imloth squinted, made out the edges of the door, and the lit street beyond.

"Can you find your way back here?"

"I can find you a path across stone in darkness that would choke a surfacer," he snapped. _No, calm down,_ he thought desperately. _It's just sunlight. It'll be gone soon._

"Alright." Durnan stepped away from him. "Don't tarry too long."

_You can do this. You've faced far worse._ Imloth closed his eyes, stepped out into the street, and felt the sunlight wash over him.

_It's sinking, _he thought frantically. _It'll be gone soon. _

He forced himself to open his eyes, and saw that it was indeed softer. _That quickly? Or did I panic?_

Golden light brushed the edges of stone walls and gables overhead. Beneath his boots, rounded cobbles. He lifted his head, felt a breeze against his face, carrying smoke and the sharp tang of salt. Above, roofs leaned in, with the sky a line of dying fire between.

He glanced up and down the street, saw nothing. Not used to the oddly _formal_ feeling of moulded stones under his feet, or the ordered shape of the city around him, he advanced down to the corner. Sword drawn, he flattened himself against the wall and peered around, onto a wide plaza.

Pillars had fallen across the ground here, huge blocks scattered and broken. Charred wood still smouldered, and he saw heaped bodies. Blood was thick on the stone, and he heard the buzzing of flies as they swarmed. Something large and black perched on a nearby toppled column and tilted a narrow, sable head at him. The small creature gripped the stone with small, clawed feet, and he wondered what it was.

Dropped weapons, burned-out wagons, slivers of glass and buckled armour. The fallen piled against the rough stone, their eyes turned up and their mouths gaping and crimson. Arrow fletching whirring in the wind, the heads still sunk in cold flesh. Fires still flickering, seething across spars of shattered wood. All the usual debris of a battlefield, yet here, beneath the sunlight, such things seemed unreal, dream-like.

He had seen his share of carnage, during and after; yet never in such stripping, harsh light.

Here, there were no shadows to melt into, to blanket the slaughter left behind.

Unsettled, Imloth skirted the plaza, his back to the half-shattered wall of a huge building. He ducked under an archway, and into a narrow alley. Here, the gloom was thicker, and overhead, the sky darkened. More at home with the crowding walls, and feeling more confident as the sun vanished, he stalked down to a crossroads, and beyond, to a wide street.

Hugging the nearest wall again, he froze as he heard footsteps. Sluggish, and dragging against the stone. He turned, slithered back into an alcove beyond a blocked-off door. Pressed against tiles, he smelled old blood and charcoal. As he had always been taught, he stilled his breathing, half-closed his eyes, and simply _waited_.

Sharp shadows moved past him first, jagging across the blood-splashed street. Drow followed, walking close together and apparently uncaring of the twilight. Through his eyelashes, Imloth recognized the red swirls painted across the back of their armour. _The Red Sisters_, he thought grimly. _Pulled from death. _

Following them was a creature dragged from nightmare. All spikes and wings and blazing, ruby eyes, it walked with dreadful purpose. Imloth gritted his teeth and prayed it could not smell him. _Surely his own flesh, living and breathing, would carry a different scent?_

But the creature marched on past him, shepherding the undead drow onwards.

Imloth tipped his head back and swallowed a sigh. He waited, statue-still, until he could hear nothing past the sighing of the wind and his own rapid heartbeat.

Then he slipped out of the alcove and kept moving, while the sky overhead turned a strange, lucent cobalt. Clouds curled over the edges of roofs and parapets, and the wind was stronger, plucking at his hair, flicking the long ends of it into his eyes.

He prowled down another long alleyway, wound his way past a heap of burned corpses, and paused again beside the gutted ruin of what might have once been a tavern. He could hear voices, too far away to discern properly, and the clank of metal against stone. Not the sounds of violence; perhaps the arch-devil's forces were doing no more than patrolling. Footsteps, tramping against the ground; the sound of buckles jingling. _How many were there, and how close were they?_

Suddenly hating the way the buildings crowded in on him, the way they broke up his line of sight, Imloth darted into the ruined tavern. Smoke and the reek of melted metal and seared flesh hung on the air, thick enough to make him gag. He leaped up the stairs, winced when he heard them creaking worryingly beneath him. Another quick dash, and he was on the roof, beneath a sky now fallen into soft blackness.

_Now, this I understand_. Cat-like, he crept across the one half of the roof that remained, found the edge, and perched.

Not far away, he saw the soft glow of firelight, and shadows, flickering. There would be sentries on the ground, he knew. _But would they be looking for one drow on the rooftops?_

_If they see you, you're dead anyway. _

He steeled himself and studied the gap between the tavern roof and the gabled edge of the building across the alleyway. _It's not that far. Yes, but miss it and you'll break your legs. Or make it and make enough noise to bring every monster in this city after you. _

Imloth sheathed his sword, silently cursed, and vowed never to tell the Seer what he was about to do.

Not giving himself time to muse any longer on the threat of shattered bones, he hurled himself across the gap. A standing jump across nothingness, another trick learned in his mother's city at the behest of a trainer who enjoyed hazing students with challenges that left the unsuccessful dead or maimed.

He landed on the other side on all fours, and froze while he listened. _Did they hear that? No, you were quiet. You were quiet._

No shouts of discovery; no screams to fire.

Very carefully, he inched along the roof. Beyond, torches ringed another wide space, and a huge fire crackled in the very centre. He could hear voices, laughter and shouts. He dropped down onto his elbows and crawled, keeping as low as possible.

Devils, horned and winged, standing to attention beside the torches. Others danced before the fire, or called raucously to each other. Some drank, while yet others simply sat and talked. And, standing in silent ranks, their faces gleaming unresponsively in the torchlight, were the undead. Some drow, some human, some neither, all with wide, uncaring eyes as they stood.

_There's so many of them_. Imloth shivered, and wondered how many others were out in the city, and how many more the arch-devil could call to his aid.

He looked across the plaza, past a leaning, cracked archway, and his heart twisted. Fear ran down his spine, cold and unmistakable.

_The same fear he had once felt when he thought his mother knew of his preference towards Eilistraee. Icy, unreasoning, and choking. _

_Except now_, his thoughts reminded him brutally, _you won't just get the flogging of your life if you get discovered._

Sitting proudly in front of the archway was Mephistopheles.

Flamelight licked over the arch-devil's impressive, muscled form, and Imloth wondered if this was what he had looked like in the hell that had been his. His eyes flared, and the smile on his lips was secretive, part amused, part bored.

_He has the look of a priestess who has just broken a particularly stubborn slave,_ Imloth found himself thinking.

_And if this destruction bores him…what will he do next?_

Firmly deciding he had seen enough, Imloth eeled back from the edge. Behind his armour, his heart hammered. The firelight leaped up, and the shadows danced madly.

And, from just below, someone shouted. "Up there! The roof!"

More cries followed, orders to shoot the intruder, to run and discover the spy. Imloth jerked back from the edge. _No time for stealth. Run. Just run._

An arrow clipped the roof, two inches from his foot. Another followed, soaring past his cheek. Running feet pounded against the stone. Two more arrows winged out of the flickering shadows.

Imloth bolted, hurtled back over the roof. Without thinking, he threw himself back across the gap, and onto the tavern roof. More arrows thunked down behind him, and he tried not to think about how quickly they were following him.

_You get down there, they'll be waiting for you._

He dived down the stairs, into the murky darkness, drawing his sword as he ran. _No use getting trapped in here_. He dashed out through the ruined front wall, and almost ran into a wall of drow.

_All of them undead. _

Chilled, Imloth lurched back, ducked the first swing of a sword. _They're not moving right…sort of...jarring. Stop thinking._

He spun under his opponent's stroke, batted the blade away, and plunged his own into the drow's chest. His sword ripped free with a sickening, wet sound. He kept moving, whirling on to confront the next. An arrow snicked past his cheekbone, and he bit down a cry. Another step, and he drove his sword between the ribs of the next drow. He snapped his hand down sharply, and the bones cracked and gave too easily. His sword pulled out, dripping dark blood.

_Even their blood's not right_, he noted, horrified. _Too thick, too black…because they're already dead._

Imloth dived under the arc of another arrow, and chopped through the rest of the drow. They were slow – _at least compared to breathing drow, _he thought sourly - but there were plenty of them. He smashed past the last's guard, slashed open the drow's throat. A shaft tore out of the darkness, clipped his shoulder.

He cried out, startled. His balance ruined, he staggered. Another arrow scythed out and burned a line of hot pain along his side, just above his hip.

_Get out of here. Get of here or they'll skewer you to the wall._

He dodged another shot, and wondered why they did not fire a volley, or send in more drow.

_They're playing with you. Stop complaining and get out of there._

He moved away from the wall. About to make a run for the alley across the street, he jerked back as a trio of arrows sailed in front of him. He stumbled, and another one sliced past his face again. The fletching whipped against his skin, and he felt the trickle of warm blood.

_Just go. Now. Run. _

Not thinking, eyes half closed, Imloth ran. More arrows whirred past behind him, impacting off stone corners or slapping down onto the street. No footsteps followed him; only the snapping sound of arrowheads hitting stone.

_What are they doing? Why aren't they following?_

_Why do you even _care?

He skidded down the alleyway, pushed on, across a square, and through a wide, ruined thoroughfare. Breathing hard, aware of the blood patching his side, he ran past a line of charred houses, and finally back towards an alleyway he recognized. He stood there, shoulders pressed to the wall, eyes closed as he listened.

Nothing. No charging steps, no shrieks of discovery.

But still, he did not trust the arch-devil, or his servants. For long, terse moments, he waited, straining to hear. His side felt hot and uncomfortable, dull with pain. More blood dripped down his cheek, fell off the sharp line of his chin.

He tipped his head back, and something wet and cold hit his cheekbone. He blinked, opened his eyes, and flinched as something else splashed against his forehead, and then his eyelashes.

_What the hells is that?_

More of it, falling from the darkness above, spattering his hair and his armour. _Water? Falling water?_

He swiped at his eyes, tried to clear his vision. The water fell harder, in thick torrents. Bouncing off the cobbles and veiling the buildings around him. His hair was getting soaked through, and his armour was creaking. _All in all, a very disconcerting feeling_, he decided.

Cautiously, wary of both the arch-devil's minions and the water cascading from the clouds, he made his way back down the alley, and through the streets beyond. Through the curtains of sparkling water, he saw lights, and the sign swinging above the barricaded door. He checked the street, up and down, even though he could not see much. And anything he could hear was muffled under the pounding of the water.

Inside his boots, his feet were damp, and his hair was plastered to his skull. _I haven't felt like this since I fell into that lake after that fight with those raiders. _

He gripped his sword, though he knew there was no way he would be able to hold onto it if he needed to use it. He swept sodden white hair out of his face and hammered on the tavern door.

Behind the gap in the door, a plank was yanked aside. "What?"

"It's Imloth," he said. "Tell Durnan I'm back."

The door opened without hesitation, and torchlight spilled out. He saw the sentries, and Durnan behind them. The innkeeper stared at him for a long moment, then stepped out into the thundering water and grasped his wrist.

"Get yourself inside, lad." Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, Durnan dragged him through the door. "Look like a drowned rat, you do."

"A what?" He let Durnan manhandle him past the threshold. The door slammed behind them, and the sentries hurried with the blockade again. "Why am I all wet?"

Durnan gave him a suspicious stare. "You having me on?"

"No." Imloth shook his head, and suddenly realized he was _cold_. "Where I grew up, we were far from the surface."

"Alright." Durnan gave him another raking stare. "It's called rain. Water out of the clouds. It falls, and you get caught in it, you get wet."

"Oh." Imloth held up a dripping hand. "Is it always cold?"

"In Waterdeep, it is. Now come inside, get yourself warmed up, and we can talk about what you saw."

Tiredly, Imloth followed the innkeeper. The novelty of the water had worn off, and now he simply felt cold and aching, and very aware of the chill weight of his hair against the back of his neck, and how his armour clung to him. He trailed Durnan back through the infirmary, and into the smaller room that had probably once been some kind of parlour.

He stumbled through the door, saw that the Seer was already there, her hands clasped in her lap. Nathyrra perched nearby, her face narrow with concern. Unceremoniously, Durnan ordered the soaked drow into a chair, and busied himself with the whiskey decanter.

"Imloth?" Nathyrra stared at him, disbelieving. "What _happened_ to you?"

He laughed, entirely unbidden. "I got rained on."

Durnan glared over his shoulder. "You catch a cold, it's not my fault."

"I got rained on." Imloth suppressed another laugh. "Did you know water falls out of the _sky_ here?"

The Seer smiled. "Yes. I did know that. You're hurt."

"What? No, I'm fine."

"Stubborn male." Gently censuring, the Seer rose. Her robes whispered about her as she stood in front of him. "Your side is bleeding. Sword?"

"Arrow," he muttered. "It's fine."

"Stay still." With that quiet strength that had seen her face retribution from the Valsharess, the Seer laid a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes closed as she whispered the incantation, and heat spread through his side. She studied him, from sodden armour to the dripping length of his hair. "Your face again."

_The arrow,_ he remembered. _The fletching. _"It's nothing."

"You have enough scars," she said softly. She cupped his chin in one hand, and murmured more arcane words.

He felt the skin knitting, the odd, hot sensation of the spell running through his body. Her touch lingered against his face again, and he found himself unable to dredge up something suitable to say. So, instead, he waited for Durnan to return with the whiskey, and listened to the hammering, cold sound of the rain outside.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Chapter Forty-One – Snow**_

Jaiyan woke to howling wind and cold ground beneath her blankets. She peered blearily past the fluttering fire, saw Deekin still curled up, almost entirely swathed in blankets. Near the wind-thrummed edge of the lean-to, Valen sat, gazing out into the icy darkness beyond. His flail lay across his knees, and the firelight picked out the sharp lines of his face.

She kicked out of the blankets, kept one loosely draped around her shoulders, and ambled past the fire. "Storm still going?"

Valen turned, smiled. "Still screaming. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

She settled herself in front of him, pushed his legs apart so she could sit between them, and sank back against his chest. "My tiefling-shaped pillow is on watch."

He wrapped his arms around her, warming her. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine." She listened to the soft rhythm of his breathing. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you…" She blinked, wondered if this was really the right time to ask such things. _Why not? It's not like you're going anywhere fast._ "What do you see happening? Between us?"

"You mean in the future?"

"Yes." _Do you want to go back to the Underdark,_ she wondered, _and would I be able to?_

"I don't really know." He feathered one hand through her hair. "I always…when I was younger, I always liked the idea of…" He swallowed, and finished rapidly, "Marriage and children."

"Really?" She half-twisted around in his arms, searched his face. His cheeks were flushed, his expression somewhat rueful. "I mean…really?"

"Yes," he said, simply. "So…children, if they are yours, and if you want them."

_I'd make a terrible wife_, she thought desperately. _But then again…since when is a husband supposed to have horns? _"I, ah…motherhood petrifies me."

He laughed softly. "I promise I am not asking you to bear my child right now."

"Good, because that would be awkward, distracting and somewhat painful. Not to mention messy." She leaned back against the crook of his shoulder. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If…if we ever did…" She licked her lips. "Have children, I mean. Would they…I mean, you're a tiefling, so…?"

"Would they carry demonic blood?" Valen kissed the top of her head. "Yes, they would, in some measure. Not as strongly as I do. But yes, their heritage would be infernal."

"Oh." _Is that a worry? _Jaiyan stared out at the whirling snow, not entirely sure. _How about we go about getting out of Cania and beating the hells back into Mephistopheles before we start panicking about not-yet-conceived children, yes? _"Bet they'd be pretty, though."

He laughed. "Of course they would. Any daughter of yours could be nothing less."

"Hah. Personally I'd prefer any daughter of _yours_. You know, red hair, pale skin, tall. Your temper, my overweening charm, that kind of thing. You'd be beating off prospective suitors with a very big stick for a very long time."

His arms tightened around her. "Any son of yours would be stubborn as granite."

"At least he'd be able to drink his own weight. Valen?"

"Yes?"

"Could we…maybe have this talk again? When we get home?"

He pressed quick kiss to the side of her face. "Of course. Don't look so worried, beloved. I'm not planning to press-gang you into service as a housewife."

She shifted around in his arms again, braced her hands on his thighs. "Good, because I can't sew straight, and I never see dust."

His tail slipped around her waist. "You're distracting me," he said, gently admonishing. "I'm supposed to be on watch."

"Like anything half-sane would be out there right now." She leaned forward, claimed his mouth with a quick, teasing kiss.

He sighed and cupped her face. "Wanton temptress. Do you know I love you?"

"Yes." She captured his lips again, then shivered as he kissed a soft trail along her throat. "_Now_ who's distracting who?"

"No one is distracting anyone. _You_ are going back to sleep, before I have to do something drastic."

She pouted at him. "Like…kissing me until I can't breathe?"

"Gagging you until you can't breathe." Over her sudden smirk, he added, "And I mean with a _rope_, you dreadful woman."

"I heard drow know how to do interesting things with rope. And you did spend a long time living with drow…"

"Enough! I can't take any more." He kissed her softly. "Go to sleep, beloved. I'll wake you at sun-up."

"If you insist, my tiefling." She shot him another impish grin before curling up against his chest again. She pulled the blanket up to her nose and muttered, "And no, I am not moving. You're my very own personal furnace, and I am not wasting you."

Valen sighed resignedly and shifted so that her knee was not digging into the inside of his leg. He wrapped his arms around her, and she drifted into slumber, dreamless and warm.

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Early sunlight shone down on endless snowfields, blazing and painful. The sky itself was coin-bright and reminded Jaiyan of nothing so much as polished bone. She snapped her gaze away and shuddered. _Well done. Now you've unsettled yourself_.

Beside her, Valen surveyed the flat whiteness. "Are you _sure_ we're going the right way?"

She slid the Sleeping Man's ring back on, and saw the flare of scarlet signs, rising above the pristine snow. "According to the all-knowing trinket, we just go straight."

Valen scowled. "There's nothing out there."

"Well, maybe the Sleeping Man knows something I don't." Jaiyan shrugged. The ring dropped back against her tunic, and her stomach flipped as the world reverted to clean white. "Come on, let's go."

Marching across snow that gave and dipped, or ice that cracked beneath their feet, they crossed the snow plain. Distance here was deceptive, Jaiyan realized, as the blurred horizon shifted out of focus yet again. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, wrenched from between chapped lips. Even wrapped in layers, her cape bundled up to her cheekbones, the cold bit into her.

They laboured on, speaking little, halting only to help each other through drifting snow or over patches of smooth ice.

There was no wind today, and while the calmer weather should have been a blessing, the stillness was troubling. No birds spiraled into the sky here; nothing grew through the swathes of ice and snow. The very air seemed dead, as if life had never bothered to take hold amid such cold desolation.

She stopped, glanced behind. Saw their tracks unraveling behind, three sets of prints, the only marks in the gleaming snow. "How far have we come?"

Deekin poked his nose out of his hood. "Fair ways, Boss. What Sleeping Man's ring say now?"

She groaned. "Do I have to?"

Deekin nodded briskly. "Yep."

"Fine." She shuddered through the transition, and gasped.

Rising up from the snow ahead, twin flaming pillars. Runes glowed around the stone, and a shimmering gateway hung between.

"Astral door," Jaiyan said.

Valen folded his arms. "It's not as if we have any other options."

She eyed the gossamer-thin gateway suspiciously. "I know, it's just…"

"What, Boss?"

"I don't know. This feels too…I don't know. Planned."

"Well, we be following Sleeping Man's path."

"Yes, but it's all too convenient, somehow." She shook herself. "Alright."

She reached out, felt the shock of the magic even through her gloves. She gritted her teeth and stepped through. The magic of the gateway burned across her, and she shrieked as everything swirled and changed.

Her feet hit solid stone, and the bone-deep cold vanished. She cracked an eye open, saw columns and long tiled pathways and a high, arched ceiling. Gems sparkled up and down the length of the columns, blue and green and frost-white. Torches guttered, suspiciously well-tended and even. Behind her, Valen grunted as he emerged through the astral gate, and Deekin cannoned into the back of her leg.

"Deekin, did you just _run_ through that?"

"Yep. Deekin not sure where gate be, so…Deekin ran."

She sighed. "Maybe we should have asked the Sensei to make copies of the ring."

Ahead, the columns narrowed towards a single set of stone doors, closed. The air tasted musty, and dust was thick on the floor. No footprints, but strange lines cut through the dust in even squares.

Jaiyan advanced carefully, sword drawn. Her gaze swept the gloom between the pillars, and lit on an iron-banded chest. She turned to explore further, but Deekin called out. "Be careful, Boss."

"Why?" She paused beside the chest. "This place is full of jewels. Maybe someone stashed some, you know?"

"_Boss_…"

"It's just a chest." She reached out to touch it, and then promptly snatched her hand back when it cracked open of its own volition.

The chest lurched forward, snapped its lid again, and lunged for her. She darted away from it, brought her sword up, and was left staring as the chest jerked back from her. It hopped into the shadows, heaving itself between the pillars.

Jaiyan stared. "Someone enlighten me, please. What the hells was _that?_"

A smile threatened at the corner of Valen's mouth. "Retribution for all the looting you've ever done?"

Deekin grinned. "That be mimic, Boss. Thing that pretends to be other things."

"Great." She scowled sourly. "And I don't know why you're both smirking at me. It wasn't _that_ funny."

Valen dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Maybe not, but your expression right now is."

"Irritating tiefling." She thumped his side lightly. "You can go near the suspicious-looking furniture next time."

Past the glittering columns, and through the stone doors, they found themselves in a wide chamber. More gems glinted, embedded in walls and pillars and arches. Nothing stirred the dusty air. Jaiyan found herself gazing longingly at a hand-sized ruby before Valen grasped her elbow and hauled her away.

"You don't need it," he said firmly.

"But I could sell it!"

"So you wouldn't even keep it anyway." Exasperated, he shook his head. "I can almost understand a woman wanting a jewel for a pendant or somesuch, but you sell everything you find, so…?"

"So, what? I like the _option_. Besides, you turn that thing into a pendant, you'd never be able to lift your head up."

Of _course_ she did not need the ruby, nor any of its twinkling counterparts, but the frustrated smile on Valen's face was worth it. The trek across the snowfields had been mercifully free of enemies, but she feared for the moment they might step through another astral gate and into the swords of devils. _Do you really think making him laugh at you is going to keep him sane when the Blood Wars come calling next?_

_No_, she thought, _but what else am I supposed to do?_

More stone doors stood open at the far end of the chamber. Blackness showed through, unbroken and rippling like poured oil. Firmly resolving to avoid all things planar in the future, Jaiyan eyed the doorway. "That's not right."

Deekin nodded. "But we gots to go through it."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe we could just set up a windbreak here, see how long the supplies last."

"Not long," Valen said, "But we could always cook your kobold."

"Hey! Deekin not be meal for Goat-man!"

Jaiyan stifled a giggle. "Don't worry, Deeks. I won't let him roast you. Not yet, anyway."

She turned her attention back to the doors, and her smile faded. _If I never see another odd, floating, astral, flickering or otherwise eldritch gateway in my entire lifetime, it will be far too soon_. She drew in a deep breath, and stepped through.

This time, she opened her eyes to a narrow rock corridor, and the sound of rushing, cold air. Light flooded across the rough stone walls, bright enough that she blinked.

"Ah…and who might this be..?"

She squinted through the glare, and saw figures against the light. Light that seared from the tip of a staff clutched in the hand of a tall, skeletal wizard. _Oh Gods_, she thought. _He's not a wizard. You can see his skull. And he looks like he just climbed out of his grave. He's a lich. _

Valen stumbled out of the doorway behind her, Deekin hopping after him.

"Ah…companions. Three of you, wandering Cania." The voice was low, somehow reassuring. "Whyever are you here?"

Jaiyan shielded her eyes and fixed her gaze on the speaker. This one stood to the lich's right, a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing black eyes. "Just exploring," she said quickly. "I hear the weather's bearable at this time of year."

A third figure, this one a barrel-chested, dark-haired dwarf, laughed harshly. "No one's here by choice, little girl."

Beside her, Valen growled. She heard his armour creak as he loosened his flail. This would end in bloodshed, she knew, whether by the challenging look in the dwarf's eyes, or through the simmering anger she could feel from the tiefling behind her.

_But Gods above, it would be easier if I wasn't so afraid_. She tightened her hand around her sword hilt and wondered if she could stall them. _Long enough for Valen to get himself settled. Because if he loses himself in here, there's not much room to duck. _

"Including you?" she asked innocently.

"Oh, not at all," the black-eyed man said. "But we find our surroundings…amenable."

"Boss!" Deekin pawed at her elbow. "Boss! Deekin recognizes that one!"

"What?"

"That one!" The little kobold pointed at the man. "He be having his painting in book about Neverwinter."

"Deekin, I'm not sure this is really the time to…"

"Boss," the kobold cut across her. "This be priest lady paladin talked about."

She stared into the dark-eyed man's handsome, cold face. "Maugrim..?"

She remembered Aribeth's voice, hushed and full of regret as she spoke of the priest who had poisoned her dreams until she pledged herself to the Old Ones. This, then, was the man responsible for forcing a terrible act of betrayal that had seen a city half-destroyed and thousands lying dead in its burned streets. The man who had sought to loose the Old Ones from their stone prison, and return to them lands that had millennia ago been part of their terrible empire.

The dark-eyed man smiled. "Ah. Aribeth. Poor lost soul, wandering the wastes, is she? Tell me, does she remember what a blackguard she made?"

Jaiyan opened her mouth to spit some angry retort, but Valen launched past her, Devil's Bane whirring. The flail snapped out, and the spiked heads raked across Maugrim's chest. The priest lurched away, his swords swinging up to block the tiefling's next stroke.

White light exploded from Deekin's hands, slamming against the lich's arcane protections, forcing him back a pace.

Jaiyan snarled, gripped her sword, and threw herself at the dwarf. His fist crashed into her stomach, and she dropped like a stone. Curled over on herself and coughing desperately, she cursed herself for not making the connection between _no visible weapons_ and _monk_.

_Damn good monk, at that_. She heaved in a breath and staggered up. She ducked another powerful swipe and drove her sword at the dwarf's throat. His forearm flashed up, and her blade clanged aside. She stumbled away from him, raggedly blocking as he aimed a flurry of blows at her head. One sliced past her guard, and his clenched hand cracked against her temple. Light burst across the inside of her eyelids, and she swayed.

Somewhere nearby, she heard bubbling shrieks, and the sound of metal hitting the floor. A hot, roaring spell seethed past her, and she opened her eyes in time to see the dwarf tottering back from her. Flame licked over him, wild and terrible. A crossbow bolt whined out and plunged into his throat, cutting off his terrified scream.

With her head still ringing, she turned, saw Deekin standing in front of the half-melted corpse of the lich. Slightly sheepish, she smiled. "Thanks, Deeks."

Deekin shrugged. "No problem, Boss."

Devil's Bane screeched against stone, and Jaiyan spun round. Valen had Maugrim cornered against the wall. The priest's left arm hung uselessly, and his right hand trembled around his sword. The flail rose and fell, smashing against the upraised sword. Valen swung again, and the flail ripped across Maugrim's head.

Jaiyan swallowed and glanced away as the priest fell. Blood spattered the stone behind, and the floor around Maugrim was drenched.

_The scent of blood, thick on the air_. Jaiyan looked at Valen, could see nothing past the set line of his shoulders, and the way he gripped the flail.

She wanted to run to him, to grasp his hand, turn him around.

She glanced at Deekin, and the kobold shook his head silently.

_I know_, she thought, near-frantic. _But I have to know if he's alright. I have to know if he's…him._

The flail dropped from his hand. He turned, slowly. He was breathing hard, and she could see that his whole frame shook. Blood and sweat streaked past his eyes, which were decidedly blue. "Jaiyan?"

"I'm here." She crossed the floor, and jumped when he grabbed at her hands. His grip on her fingers was punishing, and she could see the sweat dripping off his chin. "Valen…I'm here."

He was staring at her – no, _through_ her. Her fear not quite quelled, she said again, "Valen, I'm here. It's me."

He gulped down a shaking breath. "I…I have to get out of here. There's…I can smell the blood."

"Alright." She gently twisted her hands free of his. She scooped up his flail, strapped it across his shoulders, and took his hands again. Without speaking, she led him down the stone corridor until pale sunlight lanced against her face. A rush of cold air, and she was stepping out and onto new snow.

The wind was gusting, and full of tumbling snowflakes, but it seemed _clean_ somehow, clear and fresh after the crowded violence in the passageway.

Valen tipped his head back, and falling flakes brushed against his face. His eyes closed, and he breathed slowly. "My flail," he said. "It's…can you clean it? Please?"

Very carefully, she unholstered the weapon and moved away from him. She dropped it into the snow, and was about to dig in her packs for cloths and polish when Deekin touched her wrist.

"Boss go look after Goat-man," he said quietly. "Deekin can do this."

She nodded quickly and swallowed. "Thanks, Deeks."

While the little kobold mopped away the stink of blood and death, Jaiyan stepped up beside Valen again. "Valen, love? It's me."

He drew in another shuddering breath. "I can hear them."

"What? What can you hear?"

"When I fought for Grimash't, there were drums. The battle drums of the Blood Wars, they called them." His eyes closed, the skin around them tight with pain. "Beloved, I can hear them now."

"No," she murmured. "No…Valen, it's just the wind."

He reached out as if to touch her face, but instead clasped her hands. "No, I…"

"It's just the wind," she said again. "The wind and the snow. I'm with you. Hold on."

His fingers locked around hers. He was shaking less, she noted, but he was still ashen, and sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. "Jaiyan?"

"Yes, Valen?"

"Stay with me," he said thickly. "Please stay with me."

Her eyes prickled. "Oh, Valen. Of course I will."

She wrapped her arms around him, and felt him shudder. He gasped, or sobbed, or both, and buried his head against the side of her neck. She stood silently with him, while the wind howled, and he clung to her, and the snow billowed.


	42. Chapter 42

_**Chapter Forty-Two – Crucible**_

The light of a single candle sent fluttering shadows across the edges of weapon racks and packed bolts and hanging suits of armour. Sitting cross-legged on an upturned crate, Imloth carefully sliced fletching cuts into the length of a new arrow. A dozen more lay on the floor, while a pile of recently-feathered arrows were bundled beside him.

The sun was high above the tavern, and he could not sleep. Only hours before, Durnan's men had pushed back a brief incursion of undead, lead by a single tall devil, and Imloth had stewed below. On the innkeeper's orders, the drow had remained away from the main door and the full flood of daylight. He understood why – any drow newly out of the Underdark would be useless in such a situation – and yet it had been difficult, to simply sit and listen, while Durnan's men fought off the attackers.

So he had taken himself off to the armoury to make himself useful, while the others slept in the uneasy aftermath.

The door opened, letting in Durnan and a spill of light. He laid his torch in nearest bracket and blinked. "One candle? How the hells can you see anything?"

Imloth raised his head. "Drow."

"Point taken." Durnan stamped past an aging suit of armour and regarded the drow's handiwork. "Very nice. How long you been down here?"

"Since the attack."

"You eaten?"

Imloth shrugged.

"Damn contrary creature." Durnan folded his arms. "Look, lad. It's neither here nor there with me if you want to turn yourself into a wraith. But you're my go-between at the moment, and I don't fancy learning all about whoever's next in the chain of command."

"That's Nathyrra."

Durnan leaned against the wall next to him. "Talk to me."

Imloth glanced up at him. "What?"

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Imloth dropped the arrow. "I…we're useless. You get attacked during the day, and we can do nothing. Having sun-blind drow around is useless."

"And if we're attacked at night, you'll be the opposite." Durnan frowned. "That why you're hiding in here?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm fletching."

Durnan sighed. "I've seen better sulking from my daughter when she was twelve. Your Seer was looking for you."

Something very like guilt twisted through him. "She was?"

The innkeeper gave him a raking look. "Who is she?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Seer. Who the hells is she?"

_Only the one who called me from the city I grew up in. Only the one who shouted rebellion at the Valsharess. Only the one who stated that it was not blasphemy to openly follow Eilistraee rather than Lolth. _"She's…our leader."

"You drow always have woman leaders. Why's she different?"

_She's not different_, he thought. _She's…the Seer. _"She's a priestess of Eilistraee."

"Alright. So she doesn't like spiders. What else?"

Imloth stared at the trimmed feathers in his hands. "It's…difficult to explain. She…she created a haven in Lith My'athar. Somewhere we could go. Could try and survive in. You know what usually happens to outcast drow on their own in the Underdark?"

"Nothing good, I'd say."

"Yes. So this city of hers…it was somewhere safe." He shrugged. "And she…was not like other drow leaders. Other drow women. She did not…she was not a Matron Mother. She was just the Seer."

Durnan grinned. "You mean she doesn't like her males flogged and chained while they feed her grapes and white wine?"

Imloth growled. "_Don't_," he said, very quietly. Cold anger bubbled, somewhere behind his ribs. "That's…" He drew in a slow, steadying breath. "I'm sorry."

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Can't imagine you've seen much nice down there. Look, lad, take yourself upstairs, have a bath and clean yourself up, and then get yourself some food."

"A bath?"

"I can't tell whether I can smell more mildew or blood on you," Durnan stated firmly. "Drop your armour and I'll have someone clean it."

Imloth felt his skin prickle; leave _his armour_ for _some surfacer_ to pick up and touch? "I'm fine."

"You're filthy. Do yourself a favour." Durnan folded his arms and leveled a glare at him. "Fine. _I'll_ take your armour. And I'll drop it off outside your room once it's done. And I'll clean it."

For a long, uncomfortable moment, Imloth wrestled with his own thoughts. _Admi it, your armour needs a good cleaning, as does your skin. _"Alright," he said, grudgingly. "But no one else."

Something very like a smile tugged at Durnan's mouth. "Course not."

The drow slid off the crate and found the buckles that crossed his chest and stomach. He shed his armour, pried the off the pieces that segmented over the tops of his legs. Underneath, his tunic clung to his skin, patched with old blood and long lines of jagged stitches. Feeling suddenly much smaller, Imloth held the armour out. "Be gentle with it. It's seen a lot."

_Like too many fights in the arena, too many skirmishes with opposing Houses at your mother's command, and escaping to Lith My'athar_. Commissioned on behalf of his mother after he survived a brutal set of tests in the arena, the armour was both beautiful and practical. Some part of him often wondered why he had not simply asked Rizolvir to make him another set, since nothing but old, painful memories lingered with this one. _But then,_ he thought, _Valen didn't ask for a new flail, either. _

Durnan held the armour up carefully. "You've got the third room on the left, first floor up. Take your time."

"What if we get attacked?"

The innkeeper laughed. "Then you'll have to help fending off undead while dripping wet and stark naked."

Heat rushed into his face. "Even drow don't relish such a prospect."

Upstairs, he found the promised third room on the left, already twined with steam from the tub sitting in front of the fire. There was a carafe of wine as well, and a plate with bread and cheese.

_How long has it been since you've had a proper bath?_ Sighing, Imloth peeled off his tunic and shirt, followed with his leggings and boots. He sank into the water and inhaled sharply as the hot water sloshed over him. _Since the night before Lith My'athar was attacked_.

He found the soap, and worked up a decent lather across his hands and arms. He _was_ filthy, he realized. Dirt and grime and blood were ingrained on his skin. He ducked under the surface, came up blinded by his own hair. He swept the thick white strands away, and noticed a new scar along the back of his left forearm.

_I can't even remember how I got that_, he thought. _Must've been in Lith My'athar._

He leaned back against the edge of the tub and sighed again. The bath was wooden, the chamber about it small and square, licked with firelight. Growing up the son of a Matron Mother, his position had yielded some few rewards. Opulent chambers, the best weapons, and wine and hot baths when he asked.

_And summons by the priestesses, and calls to the arena, and poison in the wine once brought by a plotting elder sister. _

Her name was Aunrae, and she had been beautiful and haughty, in the manner of most drow females. Seeking to secure the appreciation of their mother, she had planned his death; he, the outsider son who succeeded well in the arena, but steered well clear of politics.

But he had survived, and she had been discovered, and he had been made to stand there and watch as their mother had Aunrae's skin flayed from her delicate frame.

_Not for her attempt; for her failure._

Imloth splashed water over his face again and tried to pry his thoughts away from the past.

But so often he woke with old memories fresh in his head. Even at his most peaceful - before the Seer's saviour had arrived, when his days were mostly occupied with training recruits – he often lurched out of disturbing dreams and tried to remember where he was.

He dunked his head under the surface again and roughly rubbed soap into his hair. Unbidden, the recollection rose in his mind, of a time he had been beaten black and blue in the arena. His mother had been watching, and had made her disapproval known once he had been dragged away. His opponent had been executed in a fit of her spite, and he had opened his eyes to the worrying sight of three priestesses standing over his bed.

_"Your Matron Mother sends us," the nearest priestess purred. "Why did you lose?"_

_The sheets were stuck to the open wounds on his back, and his head pounded. His hair was patched scarlet with his own blood. "I did not lose."_

_"No? You were nearly unconscious, bleeding from a dozen wounds, and only the call of the arena master kept you breathing."_

_He levered himself up on his elbows, gasped as he realized he had sustained a deep gash along one side of his chest. "May I speak to my mother?"_

_The blow from the priestess was quick and harsh, thudding into the side of his head. "Refer to her by title, male."_

_"May I speak to Matron Mother Saeryss?"_

_"Perhaps." The priestess reached down, pushed aside thick hanks of his bloodstained hair. "You are rather comely, are you not?"_

_From bitter experience, he knew what would come next. "Priestess," he said haltingly. "I am injured. I need healing."_

_She tangled a hand in his hair. "I think not."_

Imloth shuddered and sloshed the last of the lather from his hair. He remembered being hauled from his chambers, and being chained to a wall, while the priestess had him first flogged, then healed, then flogged again for his lapse in the arena, before guiding him back upstairs, and into her bed.

He heaved himself out of the bath. Scattering droplets, he wrapped himself in rough towels and inspected the carafe. The wine was sweet-tasting and heady, and he was still not quite used to it. But he still drank a good two and half glasses while he dripped onto the rug in front of the fire. Afterwards, with his hair damp and falling to the middle of his back, he pulled his clothes back on. Feeling almost relaxed, he laced his boots up and made his way back downstairs, heading for the kitchens.

There, he found Durnan's wife, up to her elbows in dishes and pots and steam. She was a tall, lean woman, taller than him, and she had a steely look in her green eyes that he recognized as quietly stubborn.

She gave him a glance and a quick smile. "You're looking for food?"

He nodded silently.

"What do you want?"

When he did not reply instantly, Mhaere said, "Meat, bread, ale?"

"I…"

"You can have turkey," Mhaere told him firmly. "Turkey, potatoes, carrots, turnip…Gods above, you're thin."

He blinked. "I…"

"Am a drow, I know. I'll still not have you starving." She grabbed a spoon, ladled out heaps of steaming vegetables onto a plate. Meat followed, pale and sliced thickly, and smelling like nothing Imloth knew. A generous lump of butter melted on top of a chunk of newly-baked bread, and Mhaere slathered the plate in gravy. "Don't come back until you finish it all."

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Imloth nodded again and beat a hasty retreat back into the parlour. Durnan and his armour seemed nowhere in evidence, so he tried to push all thought of Mephistopheles and the burning city outside from his mind and ate. To his slight surprise, he got through it all, and even mopped the gravy up with the thick crust.

Then he sat and wondered what else to do. At least in Lith My'athar he _knew_ what had to be done – what drills to run, what to do in the armoury, what weapon lists Rizolvir needed, which recruits were naturals with a bow.

The door opened, and the Seer stepped across the threshold.

He suddenly remembered Durnan's words, that she had been looking for him. "Seer, I…"

"It is alright." She sat next to him. "What troubles you?"

_Everything. _"I miss Valen," he found himself saying. "I have little to do and too much to think about."

"Yes," she said, softly. "I miss him also."

He remembered the day the tiefling had staggered up the gates, clad in ragged clothes, exhausted and trembling, covered in blood and filth. A huge flail gripped in one hand, and a wild wariness in his eyes. He had been taken up to rest, and then to speak with the Seer. Imloth had met him properly some days later, and had wondered if he himself had looked like that; all caged-animal caution and terrible, haunted depths to his eyes.

_But now the tiefling was dead, along with the surfacer girl. _

"Seer?"

"Yes, Imloth?"

_How do you sound so calm? So…untroubled?_ And yet, he had been there when her resolve had shattered, outside the ruined temple; he _knew_ she hurt. "Do you…see what will happen? Do you know?"

Her expression flickered. "I do not know," she said, husky with half-buried sorrow. "My dreams are strange…full of coldness. I see snow when I sleep, and blood, and such terrible anger. I do not know what they mean."

A soft confession, and one that tore through him. She was their _Seer_; was she not supposed to _see?_ To _know_ what would happen to them? To pluck prophecy from dream, and understand Eilistraee's riddles?

_As if even the gods themselves could have predicted this, renegade drow in a tavern hiding from an arch-devil and relying on the goodwill of an innkeeper. _

Imloth shook himself. _Say something. Don't just sit there looking dismal. _

But the six inches or so of space between them seemed an impossible distance, and he could not find the right words. _Or any words at all. _

The door opened again, and Durnan marched in. Imloth's armour lay over his arm, gleaming and smelling of polish.

Imloth looked up, saw the set frown on the innkeeper's face. "What's happened?"

"Trouble. Undead coming up both ends of the street. And something very big."

"The arch-devil?"

Durnan shook his head. "I don't think so. I need you on the roof."

"The sun?"

"On its way down." Durnan scrubbed a hand through his hair. "My men are at the doors and the windows. Yours are waiting. I want to send them out if the doors go."

Imloth nodded. "Very well."

The innkeeper strode out again, and the drow turned his attention to his armour. More so he did not have to look at the Seer, he began pulling the armour on. The buckles at the collar caught on his hair and yanked, and he swore.

And then flinched as the Seer gently brushed his hair aside. "May I help you?"

Wordlessly, he nodded. She held his hair back while he fussed with the shoulder pieces and the collar, and helped with the catches that crossed his chest and abdomen. Not for the first time, he reflected that drow armour was perhaps needlessly complicated. He slung his bow over one shoulder, settled his quiver against his back and his sword alongside. Her quick, slender fingers twisted thin braids at his temples, knotted them with leather.

He glanced across at her. "Thank you."

She stepped away from him, smiling. "You are most welcome."

Lost for words again, Imloth inclined his head. "I have to go."

"I know. I will be with the wounded." Her gaze swept across his face. "Be safe, Imloth."

He nodded, muttered something about promising to, and turned away. On his way up to the roof, taking the steps two at a time, he wondered if he had imagined the softness in her eyes.

Sunlight hit him as he opened the door. He held up a hand to cut the glare, and saw that the bright, burning disc of the sun was sinking fast. The sky was clear overhead, washed pink and orange near the dark line of roofs and towers. _How does it start out yellow and turn into that many colours?_

He joined Durnan's archers at the corner, and stared down onto a street seething with undead. Mostly drow, with some humans warriors, spears held high and vacant eyes turned towards the tavern. "Oh, Gods above."

The man beside him nodded grimly. "They're just…waiting. For something."

He scanned the street, and his heart quailed when he saw the huge shape standing beneath a cracked archway. Braced between two half-ruined buildings, the thing was nearly the height of where the roof should have been. Great spikes curved out from its shoulders, and the wings above where fanned out and ragged. Flame licked along the length of its jaw, and the massive sword clenched in one fist blazed crimson.

_That's a pit fiend,_ he thought slowly. _A pit fiend. We're going to die. _

The man elbowed him roughly. "Do you know what that is?"

"What?"

"You're a drow, you must…do you know what it is?"

"A pit fiend," he mumbled.

"Well, how do we kill it?"

_I don't know._ He stared at the monster, at the way its huge head tipped up into the fading sunlight. "The same way we kill anything else, I suppose. Arrows. Swords. Blood."

The pit fiend roared. Imloth looked down at the swarming undead, saw them surge forward. "Fire! Now!"

The archers obeyed, and arrows plummeted down onto the front ranks below. They were packed tightly down there, Imloth noted, and those behind simply pushed past the fallen, stepping on limbs and flesh. Chilled, he raised his arm, motioned for another volley.

Somewhere below, glass shattered, and he heard wood snapping. Desperate shouts for more planks rose up. Thrown spears thudded into the doorframe, and he heard terrible, cut-off screams.

Perching right on the brink, Imloth aimed and fired. The simple, learned movement was almost hypnotic, a motion he had learned so well he could probably do it asleep. _Nock the arrow, aim while stretching the string, and fire._ He kept his arrows trained on the press of undead nearest the door, picked them off quickly, and tried not to look at their faces as they fell.

Beside him, Durnan's archers sent another hail down onto the street. The cobbles were slicked red, and the undead toppled with eerie silence. No screaming, no clawing at arrows embedded in throats or chests. Dark blood welled around gaping wounds, and they collapsed without complaint, only to be trampled by those behind.

The pit fiend raised its sword.

Against the opposite street wall, a line of undead soldiers lifted bows laden with flaming arrows.

"Oh, no. No, no." Imloth looked raggedly at the man next to him. "Get downstairs. Send a wizard up here, _right now_."

"But…"

"Go," he snapped. He swung his gaze back to the glowing line of arrows, and worried. The inn was wood and stone, and would go up in smoke all too quickly if those arrows found their mark.

_And where else in this half-destroyed city would they find refuge?_

The pit fiend snarled out a command, and the fire arrows loosed. Some sailed too far, arcing up over the roof, and plummeting down somewhere behind the tavern. Others impacted against broken stone on either side. But all too many thumped against the door, or the windows above, or the gables.

"Take them down! Anything with fire! _Now!_" Imloth fired rapidly, almost desperately, hoping his apprehension would not spoil his aim. Somehow, his fingers stayed steady as he nocked another arrow. The string twanged beside his ear and the shaft punched through the throat of an undead warrior.

Who fell, a fire arrow tumbling from his bow and brushing the soldier beside him. Flame rippled up, and the undead milled. _Still_, they did not scream, as the fire whipped across them, jumping from leather to flesh and searing.

Below, smoke twined up from the front wall of the tavern. Imloth heard running feet behind him, and snarled, "I need ice spells, water, cold, anything. Just keep that fire down."

"Of course," the Seer answered.

He whirled around. "What are you doing up here?"

"You need a spellcaster. There is no one else." She stepped past him, raised her hands.

Power crackled between her fingers, and he wrenched himself away, tried to turn his attention back to the street. Durnan's archers still fired, and the cobbles were thick with the fallen. Overhead, the sky was a pale, almost translucent blue. Some cold, buzzing spell roared past him, descending into the street. He heard snapping, as if of ice cracking and shifting. Another spell followed, white and glacial, sweeping across the undead below, snuffing flame and driving them back against the wall.

Imloth breathed in, and the cold seethed into his lungs. He kept firing, while more spells rained down. Pale energy exploded across the street, and fifteen undead fighters were reduced to frost-rimed ash.

_But still, they kept coming. _

Imloth reached for his quiver, and realized that he had a bare handful of arrows left. A quick glance at Durnan's archers showed them to be in the same predicament. Spitting cold white flames, a spell hissed over his head, plummeted down on the undead below.

He looked up in time to see the pit fiend lift its sword again. He watched its head turn, left to right and back again. Expecting that it might growl another command, he felt his knees go weak as, instead, it glared directly at him.

And strode into the street. Pushing its way through the heaped dead, its feet slamming down through pooled blood and broken bodies.

_Oh, Gods. It's huge. _"Fall back! Back from the edge!"

White light cracked from the Seer's upraised hands, sizzled against the pit fiend's broad wings. Durnan's archers scattered. Another spell smashed against the monster's chest. Its jaws dropped open, and flame dripped from its teeth.

Imloth backed away slowly. He fumbled at his quiver, found an arrow. He heard the whine of magic behind him, and realized the Seer was still there.

_Far too close. Get her away._ He spun without thinking, and pushed her back. Some part of him cringed; _how could you put your hands on a female without permission?_

The pit fiend howled, and all thought fled. Shielding the Seer with his own body, he raised his bow. He saw the pit fiend lift its sword. His hands shook so badly he wondered if he would even be able to draw and aim properly.

He tilted the bow, stared into the monster's face, and fired. The arrow launched up, past the sword, and into the pit fiend's mouth.

It staggered, and a terrible shriek tore from its throat. Blood bubbled between its teeth.

Behind him, the Seer moved, as if to try and straighten up. Imloth shoved her back again. "Stay there!"

Another arrow launched, and plunged into the pit fiend's right eye. The sword swung round, and Imloth hurled himself away, pulling the Seer with him. He rolled up onto his knees and desperately lined up another shot.

The pit fiend's head loomed over him, dripping blood from between broken teeth. The wings snapped wide, and he saw the sword rise again. Suddenly coldly certain he was going to die, Imloth steadied himself, drew the string to his jaw and fired. The arrow cut through five feet of empty air and punched almost to the fletching in the pit fiend's skull.

For a long, terrible moment, the pit fiend glared down at him. Then the sword dropped from its slackening hand, and it toppled. The blade scythed down, and Imloth threw himself to one side. Even as he moved, he knew he was not _quite_ fast enough.

The tip of the pit fiend's sword sheared through his armour and into his side. Pain burst through him, and his knees buckled. He heaved himself away from the sword, and tried to stand. He could hear cheering from the street below, and supposed that meant the defenders below had seen the dead pit fiend. He touched his side, and absently watched the blood stream from his fingers.

Some part of his mind registered the pain, and that he was hurt, and badly, but his thoughts seemed to be slipping away from him. Hands grasped his elbow, turning him, and he heard running footsteps. Someone shouted for help, and he wondered if he should recognize the voice. Cool fingers touched his face. He tried to stand again, but his legs gave way, and darkness rushed up to meet him.


	43. Chapter 43

_Usual disclaimer still going, and just a note that this chapter is somewhat longer than most - there just didn't seem to be a natural break before it ended, so, here it is. Thank you to everyone who's keeping up with this story :)  
_

_**Chapter Forty-Three – The Drums**_

Wind howled across the barren wastes of Cania. Jaiyan shivered beneath her layers and brushed snow off her shoulders. A long day's trekking had taken them past high ice walls that gleamed like polished glass, and now flat snowfields stretched out again ahead. Beside her, Valen slogged onwards, and she cast a concerned glance at him.

He had barely spoken all day, and the set to his pale, angled face was grim. Ice crusted the ends of his pulled-back hair, his breath plumed between his thinned lips, and his hands were clenched. Even last night, she recalled, he had hardly opened his mouth, either to speak, or to kiss her. She had woken during the night and seen him curled over on his side, his tail wrapped around his waist, and his sleeping face pained.

_Every day, it gets worse. And you can't do anything about it. Except hope you get to the Knower of Places faster. _

Valen paused, his head tilting back and his eyes narrowing. "Do you hear that?"

She shook her head. "Hear what?"

"Battle," he said, quietly.

She strained to listen, but heard nothing past the screaming wind. "No…Valen, there's nothing."

_Was this like after killing Maugrim? Was he hearing echoes of past violence?_

His tail lashed. He breathed in deeply, and his face changed. _Subtly, barely, but it changed. _

"Valen," she said, warily. "Valen, love…what do you hear?"

"I just told you." His tail snapped again. He looked past her, to where the rolling plain crested over a low hill. Between one heartbeat and the next he was running full-bore through the whirling snow.

"Ah, hells." Jaiyan shook her head and took off after him, with Deekin hurtling along behind.

She skidded up to the top of the hill, looked down, and realized that he had not been hearing echoes.

_Not at all. Oh, Gods help us. _

Below, the snow was crimson mush. Dead devils and demons and other things of infernal heritage lay crushed against the ground, bleeding from gaping wounds. The air was hazed with smoke, and fire rippled from huge torches sunk in the snow. Black arrows and broken-off spears sprouted from the snow. And, still locked in combat, devils pushed back against a wall of armed demons. Jaiyan stared, tried to tell the difference. To her, they all seemed big, scaled, and angry. There were strange, skeletal, bird-looking creatures, stalking through the carnage. Others, smaller and winged, darted past downswung swords and around flung spears.

"Oh, hells, where is he?" She gazed down the slope and saw him, charging blindly down into the melee. Devil's Bane already swung from his hand, and she did not want to see his face.

"Oh, Gods. Deekin, what do I do?"

The little kobold looked up at her. "Deekin not knows, Boss. Sorry."

She squeezed his shoulder. "It's alright. Do I go down there and help him?"

Below, Valen slammed into a towering devil, spun the flail against its skull. Blood erupted along with bits of bone, and then he was moving on, jumping past the devil's slumping body.

"Not that he needs help." Jaiyan pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Why did _this_ have to happen?"

Deekin's hand slipped into hers. "Boss?"

"Yes?"

"Boss loves him, yes?"

She drew in a shuddering breath. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Then Boss has to hold on." Deekin pressed his nose against the side of her arm. "Deekin not ever seen Boss this worried. Not about people."

She laughed, slightly choked. "My fault for falling for a tiefling."

On the battlefield below, Valen carved a path through the devils. His flail spun left and right, and every blow connected. Blood fountained, and Jaiyan winced as the crimson spray coated his face. She saw him pause, even as the creatures around him surged against each other, and he licked the blood from his lips.

"Oh, Gods." She closed her eyes. _He did not just do that. He did not just…what do I do now?_

"Boss?"

She forced her eyes open again. "What happened?"

"Look, Boss." Deekin gestured, and she saw the demons – she thought they were demons, anyway – turn and crash against the devils. Valen was lost somewhere amid the swarming press, indistinguishable.

_This must be what the Blood Wars look like_, she thought, sickened. _Violence and carnage wherever devils and demons meet. _

One of the odd, bird-shaped creatures whirled around, and fixed burning eyes on them.

"Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"What's that? The spindly one that's looking at us."

"That be a vrock, Boss."

"Oh." She eyed the creature, and wondered what it was thinking.

It hunched forward, and its beak-like skull opened, and it shrieked.

"Damn it. It wants us to join in." Jaiyan drew her sword, and tried not to think about whether she would survive a Blood Wars skirmish.

The vrock charged up the slope, its clawed, long feet digging into the snow. She braced herself while Deekin chanted. Some spell arrowed from his hands, sizzled against the vrock's narrow chest. The creature slowed, shook itself, and pushed on. Another spell whined past it, exploding against the snow behind its heel.

Jaiyan lowered her sword, misjudged the distance, and winced when the vrock slammed into her. Her shoulder twinged in protest, and she wrested her sword around, raked the blade against the vrock's stomach. The creature hissed and leaped back, all protruding limbs and wild eyes. She ducked a swipe from its hind claws, and another from its head, and plunged her sword to the hilt in its chest. The blade jarred against the vrock's ribs, and it shrieked.

She wrenched the sword out, and drove it back in, two inches above. The vrock shuddered and crashed down into the snow.

She looked past it, and saw that little moved at the foot of the slope. She saw Valen, stalking purposefully past the piled dead towards a tall, flame-winged beast that looked sketched from mad nightmares.

"What the hells is that?"

"That be a balor, Boss. Probably balor lord."

She ransacked old memories, recalled something she had read once, long ago, and frowned. "Aren't they demons?"

"Yep. But Deekin thinks Goat-man be too far gone to care."

The hushed honesty in the kobold's words frightened her. She watched as Valen threw himself at the balor, apparently uncaring of the creature's size. It towered above him, and flame burned in its ferocious gaze. It swung down at him with a sword easily as long as him, but he did not seem to care, or notice. The blade caught against the flail chain once, but Valen wrenched away. He sidestepped the next lunge, and snapped the flail up against the balor's throat. The spikes caught and dug in. He yanked the flail away, and she saw him smile as the blood splashed against his eyes and mouth.

_Alright,_ she thought carefully. _There's no one left. If you're going to move, move now. _

"Boss?" Deekin's voice was concerned. "Be careful."

"Deekin, can you do me a favour?"

He blinked. "Of course, Boss."

She exhaled slowly. "I need you to go and set up camp somewhere nearby. Maybe over that rise, away from all this."

Deekin stared disbelievingly at her. "What?"

"Please," she said. "If he's lost himself, then you being here won't change anything." _And I don't want you to see it if anything awful happens. _

"Boss," Deekin said, haltingly. "Deekin should be with Boss."

"I know, but…" She shrugged helplessly. "I…this could go terribly wrong, and you could get hurt."

"And Boss?"

"I'll be fine." But her heart fluttered, and she was not sure she would be fine at all. "Please, Deeks. I need you to do this. I need to get him on his own."

He blinked again, slowly. "Alright. But Boss needs to be careful."

She nodded, peered through the whirling snow. She waited while the little kobold made his way around the pooled blood and crushed snow, pattered up the other side, and over the crest. He halted at the top, glanced back at her.

She drew in a quick breath, disgusted at herself for wanting to run after him. _Go talk to Valen,_ she thought. _It's your fault he's here, anyway. _

Her hands were locked around the sword hilt, and felt frozen inside her gloves. The wind howled, snatched her voice as she called Valen's name.

He was ahead of her, half-hidden by the billowing, thick flakes. She pushed on, saw him swing the flail over his head again, two-handed. Arcing down into the neck of the toppled balor, crumpled on the ground before him. The balor was already dead, skeletal wings arched against the whiteness, jaws gaping.

"Valen?" She raked loose hair from her eyes, sheathed her sword. "Are you alright?"

His shoulders stiffened, and he turned.

Jaiyan stopped. The breath caught in her throat, and she found herself fumbling for her sword.

_His eyes were red_.

Every day, every fight they lasted through here in Cania, brought the other, the demon, closer to the surface. Every blow made in violence tempted him, called at him to give in, to strike out at anything and anyone around him.

She had seen him at night, curled over and sweating, fingernails digging into his palms. Whispering and whimpering to himself as the demon plagued his dreams.

"Valen…" She drew the sword warningly. "Stay there, Valen."

He was breathing hard, and his tail lashed angrily. Blood dripped from the flail head, splashed into the scarlet snow. "Why don't you run?"

"I'm not running from you," she said carefully. "But I want you to stay there. Don't come any closer."

Already, his voice had changed, taken on that vicious, mocking tone. "Why? In case I…_do something?_"

"Stay there." She hefted the sword, let the pale light sparkle off the blade. Her heart hammered as she watched him, saw him consider. "I want you to stay there and fight it."

He snarled. His hands tightened round the flail haft. And then he was moving, advancing silently through the snow. His shadow swooped across her. "Valen, don't…"

He brought the flail round, crashed the haft against her sword. She felt the blade judder. "Don't, please!"

He yanked the flail away, snapped the haft against her side. Jaiyan doubled over, and the sword dropped from her hands. She ached all over from the cold; her shoulder throbbed from where the vrock had crashed into her. She doubted she had the strength left to keep Deekin away from her, never mind a six-foot-something tiefling.

"Valen, don't…" She leaped wildly to one side, and the flail heads whipped through the air after her. The chain smacked into her, tipping her over onto her side.

Valen dropped the flail. The weapon thumped into the snow beside her head. She had an exhausted instant to register that he was moving again, and then his weight came down on top of her. The edges of his breastplate dug into her leather armour, and his knees shoved her legs apart.

She glared up at him, certain he could see her terror. "Valen, get off me."

He held her arms above her head, fingers digging into her wrists. For a long, terrible moment, he stared at her.

In his eyes she saw only blank rage. "Please, Valen."

His mouth clamped down on her throat, sucking at the soft skin beneath her collar. She gasped as his teeth raked her flesh, and she tried to buck him off her. She arched against him and twisted her head aside. "Stop it!"

He growled against her neck. One of his hands loosened on her wrists, crept down her. His fingers found the clasps on her armour, flipped them open. His hand burrowed inside her sweat-damp tunic and shirt, moving over the shape of her breasts.

She stared past his shoulder, trying to force her thoughts elsewhere; anywhere but with the savage feel of his teeth at her throat, the insistent pushing of his hand against her belt. She gazed up at the white sky – if it was even truly sky – broken only by the grey clouds and the whirling flakes. She wondered if Deekin would come back from setting up camp, and if he did, what he would find.

The sharp sound of her belt buckle snapping open brought her back to the present. Valen's horned head was bent over her collarbones, trailing his teeth down towards her sternum, while his hands worked lower.

_No. She could not let him do this. _

If she lay back in the snow and let him hurt her, the guilt would kill him.

Jaiyan bit her lip and drove upwards with both knees.

He cried out, half-snarling, and rolled off her. She twisted over frantically, tried to stand in the loose snow. He lunged after her, grabbed a handful of her braided hair, and yanked.

Jaiyan screamed, lashed out behind her with one foot. The blow rang against Valen's breastplate, startling him. She launched herself away from him, scrabbling for her sword. Her hand closed over the hilt, and she spun round.

He was too close, already within arm's length. He batted the sword away with the flat of his armoured forearm, pushed closer. She saw the light gleam against his bracers as he drew his arm back and punched her in the mouth.

Her head reeled. She tasted blood, and then her vision upended again as he grabbed her and threw her face-down onto the snow.

Valen straddled the back of her legs and twisted her arms above her head. She thrashed, tried to kick out at him. "Oh, no," he whispered in her ear. "I don't think so."

"Valen, don't," she implored. "If you do this, you'll never forgive yourself. I _know_ you."

He shoved a hand under the loose edge of her leather armour, pushed it up, exposing her two inches of her back to the howling wind. He traced his fingers across her skin thoughtfully. "Do you?"

"Turn me over," she suddenly snapped. "Turn me over and look at me while you do this."

Her fingers tingled, going slowly numb from his death-grip on her wrists. His hands moved, and he shifted her over. She stared up into hellishly red eyes framed by the scarlet hair she loved to run her hands through. "You don't have to do this," she said.

He had his knees on either side of her hips, his tail wrapped around her thigh. "Be quiet." He slapped her, hard, crashing her head against the snow.

Jaiyan saw the cold, cruel smile on his lips and shuddered. If he did this, she would lose him. Lose him to his remorse and self-loathing as much as to the demon inside him.

She let her arms go limp under his hands, made her legs relax. "Valen."

One word, just his name; she saw something flicker in his eyes.

But then his hand clamped around her throat, pressed in. She forced herself to lie still, to stare past his arm and into his red eyes. "Valen."

"Shut up." The tips of his fingers sank into her skin, bruising.

Jaiyan swallowed against his hold. Blood pounded in her head. "_Valen_…"

His mouth trembled. She heard him snarl, a strange, half-strangled sound.

And then he was moving again, pushing himself off her, his shoulders shaking.

She sat up carefully. Her armour was loose and open, the shirt and tunic beneath torn. He had left ugly bruises from her neck to below her breasts, and her throat was a mass of red welts from his teeth.

Aching all over, she staggered to her feet. She glanced across the uneven snow, to where the tiefling knelt, fists clenched against the ice, eyes closed.

She approached him, stopped a safe distance away. "Valen..?"

He lifted his head, and she saw tear tracks on his face. The eyes above were piercingly blue.

She battled the urge to run to him, held her ground instead. "Are you…?"

He was shaking all over. "How can you stand me?"

She crouched down a little closer. "Because you have hair that makes me insanely jealous?"

"I very nearly…" His mouth twisted in disgust. "I very nearly _violated_ you. _How can you stand me near you?_"

She caught the tip of his tail between her hands, lightly stroked. "Because you have a tail."

Valen looked away, out across the barren wastes. "Don't play with me, my lady."

"Because I love you. It's that simple, my tiefling." She kept running her fingers over the end of his tail. "Your blood did that. Your…taint. Not you."

"It _is_ me. It's in me. And as long as we stay _here_…" He gestured angrily at the snow and ice. "…It will get worse. _I_ will get worse. I go further each time. What do you think will happen next time?"

"I won't let you," she answered softly.

"Do you know what I wanted to do to you?" he said, mercilessly. "Do you really know?"

"Don't do that," she warned. "Don't you dare try to scare me into sending you away. You wanted to take me and hurt me."

"And kill you, and feel your blood on my flesh even as I took you again." His voice rang hollow.

"Stop it. And come here so we can go and find Deekin. I sent him to go light a fire and set up camp."

He turned in time to see her fumbling with her loose armour. He stared at the bruises and the bite-marks on her, horrified. "Oh, my love…"

She stopped, let him trail his fingers across her collarbone. Tenderly, he explored the bleeding welts on her throat. His hands dipped lower, stroking feather-light across the purple marks that followed the line of her sternum. "Oh, Jaiyan…what have I done to you?"

Her throat felt suddenly too thick for speech. The eyes he looked through now were hopelessly sad. She pulled the ruins of her shirt together, clamped her armour closed over the top.

Unable to think of anything else, she said, "Let's go and find Deekin."

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Much later, sheltered in the scooped shadows of a rock alcove, Jaiyan eased her armour back off. For once, the wind had relented, and the alcove was pleasantly warm. Deekin sat on the far side of the fire, briskly writing up some notes, while his tail flicked out the occasional twang on his lute. Valen sat with his back to the rock, Devil's Bane propped across his knees. The firelight played across the planes of his face, shadowing his eyes.

Jaiyan glanced down at the bloodstained remains of her shirt. She could _feel_ Valen's anguish; did not have to look at him to see his expression. _But how do you begin to discuss such a thing, while still in Cania, and vulnerable? _"Deekin?"

Deekin's quill kept jumping. "Boss?"

"Keep your eyes firmly on that parchment, you hear?"

"Why? What is Boss going to do?"

"I'm going to take my shirt off, and the last thing my dignity needs is for you to write something terrible about my cleavage, alright?"

Deekin clicked his teeth. "As if Deekin would. Deekin _artist_, Boss." His head lifted again. "Though why Goat-man not have to look away?"

"Just keep writing, kobold." Jaiyan found the laces on her shirt, realized the garment was a lost cause, and tried to heave it wholesale over her head. She winced when the fabric tugged against the new weals on her skin.

Wordlessly, Valen reached out and loosened the ties. Helped her slip the shirt off her shoulders. His eyes lingered on the map of cuts and bruises. "Jaiyan…"

"Hush." She leaned past him, found a clean cloth. _There will be time to talk about this, _she thought. _But not now. _"Will you help me?"

He nodded silently, accepted the cloth. Dipped it in a bowl of melted snow. With a yearning kind of tenderness, he cleaned the welts on her throat. He twisted the cloth into the water again, leaving blood behind. Gently, Valen smoothed the cloth over her bruises, and down to the raking lines his fingernails had left on her sternum and below.

She ran the palm of her hand over one of his horns, feathered her fingers through his soft hair. "Thank you."

He helped her into a clean shirt, smiled slightly. "My pleasure, my lady."

"Alright, you can look again, Deekin." Jaiyan stretched out beside the fire.

"How does Boss know Deekin wasn't anyway?" The little bard's eyes sparkled wickedly at her.

She balled up the remains of the ruined shirt and tossed it at him. "Nice. For that, you get first watch."

Deekin squeaked, unimpressed. "Boss…"

"First watch," she said firmly. "You can wake me later."

As Deekin stamped outside into the darkness, muttering dire imprecations to himself, she settled back against Valen's shoulder. The tiefling stiffened briefly, then relaxed enough to wind his tail around her waist. "When we get back to Waterdeep, I'm never going outside in the snow again," she muttered.

"Never?"

"In fact, I'm never even _thinking_ about snow again." She turned, arranged herself against his chest, felt the heat radiating from him. "You, however, are most welcome to curl up against."

Tentatively, he rested one hand on the back of her head, the other on her waist. "Anything my lady wishes."

"When we get back, I'll remember you said that. I'm sure I can think of many a way of wasting time with you."

He flushed a violent shade of red.

"For a warrior of the Abyss, you're such a prude, Valen my love."

His arms tightened round her. "Your faith in me shames me."

Jaiyan twisted, looked up at him. "No, just making lewd comments shames you." She pushed up against him, felt his mouth brush gently over hers. She let her eyes close, lost herself in the pliant, warm feel of his lips and tongue.

"We have much time to make up for," she murmured when she leaned against his chest again. "And so much to _do_."

"You will want me to stay with you? On the surface?"

"Don't sound so surprised." Drowsy in the firelight, she played with the end of his tail again. "I would like to see the sunlight again, and then I would like to go wherever you would like to."

"Me?"

"You sound like Deekin. Yes, you. Wherever you would like to go. You're a creature of the planes, my tiefling. If you would not be happy in Waterdeep, then maybe we should find somewhere you will be happy."

He kissed her forehead. "For now, I will content myself with the thought of seeing you in the sunlight. But eventually…perhaps somewhere else would be best. In your world, tieflings are seen as…other. And to be in the company of one…"

"I don't remember caring much for my reputation before I met you," she remarked. "Besides, I traveled with Deekin before. If that hasn't permanently changed what people think of me, having you along won't."

He laughed softly. "I think we'd be viewed more as a menagerie than anything else."

"Well, as long as you're _my_ menagerie, I don't mind." She slid a hand up his chest, over the taut lines of muscle. She felt him shudder, and smiled. "Don't worry. You can save up everything you want to do to me for when we get back."

"I want to, my love. I truly want to…but here…"

She silenced him with another kiss. "I know. And if it wasn't for the sad fact that we're in the Hells, I'd have you flat on your back right now."

He laughed and gathered her firmly in his arms. "I'm glad, beloved. More than you can imagine."

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_The air was hot in his lungs. Around him, all was fire and smoke and the charnel stink of death. The weight of the flail in his hands was reassuring. He breathed in again, inhaling the coppery scent of his feet, the sightless eyes of dead baatezu were turned up towards the ashen sky. His armour was crimsoned, and his red hair was matted with blood and sweat. _

_For hours, they had fought, pushing against each other on this barren ground, the sky above seared with flame. He had led the charge, run madly into the lines of baatezu. Loved the feel of hot blood against his face as he had spun the heads of his flail against their flesh. _

_His head pounded, almost painful. He snarled and tightened his hands around the flail haft. _

_There was nothing left to kill. _

"Valen?"

Hands came down on his shoulders, shaking him. Pulling him out of the dream, the memory.

"Valen, wake up."

He snapped his eyes open. Firelight flickered against white stone. No, not stone; ramparts of ice. The same small hands caught his arm. "Valen..?"

He growled and shoved away. His back hit the ice, and he realized he wore green; not the armour he had christened with blood on the dark plains of his dream. His head throbbed, and he could feel sweat stinging his eyes.

"Valen, your _eyes_…come on, wake up. Please."

_He knew that voice_. Something to do with the cold, and his anger, and the sudden, sharp feeling of guilt. _Who was she?_

He shook his head, tried to clear the strange, insistent fog from his mind. He glared through the haze, saw that the woman before him was small and slender, clad in leather armour and little more than a girl. Her tousled hair was an unremarkable brown, and the concerned eyes she trained on him were soft blue.

"Valen? Can you even hear me?"

_She was afraid_.

He snarled, suddenly furious. The pounding, relentless rage in his head burned, needed to be satiated. He knew that anger, too well; it had kept him alive and up to his knees in slaughtered baatezu, defying death at the behest of his master.

_Grimash't_. _Where was he?_

The demon had been there, at the plains, watching the carnage, and should have spirited him back, to the place he supposed was home.

Instead, he was here, in this cave, while this young woman leaned over him. She reached out, smoothed his hair, and he flinched away from her. "Valen, it's me," she murmured. "It's Jaiyan."

_Jaiyan. He knew that name. _

He remembered her, in jolts of grudging understanding. They had lain together, in a black room with a metal casement. They had made love, and he had kissed her as if nothing else could give him solace. He had hurt her, and she had understood, and had not sent him away.

He recalled the arrival in Cania, though not why; he remembered hurting her again and again, until she had been limp beneath him in the snow, her throat bleeding from his assault. _And still she kept him_.

Unaccountably, that incensed him more. _She should have left him before it came to this. _

"Valen, come back to me."

_She was still talking to him_. _How many times must he order her to run from him?_ The blood was thundering in his head, and beneath it, in time with his heartbeat, he could hear the drums. The drums he heard on those barren plains. The drums that would only be sated and silenced with blood.

He snarled and grabbed her shoulders. He heard her cry of alarm and smiled. "I am with you," he grated through clenched teeth.

She stared up at him through frightened blue eyes. "Not again," she whispered. "Don't do this again. We're almost out. We're almost home."

_Home? That was a cage in Grimash't's fortress. _

He bore her down onto the floor, trapping her easily. She barely struggled; simply gazed at him imploringly. "Let me go," she said softly. "The guilt will kill you if you do this."

_The guilt will kill you_. He had heard that from her before, he was certain. Her body was rigid beneath his, unyielding. Another memory burst in his mind, unbidden; he knew every line and curve of her, had seen her sprawled in languid satisfaction against him. He had heard her call his name in pleasure.

"No!" He screamed the word, at her and at the ache in his head.

Her hands slipped up, stroked his hair. "Let me go, Valen."

He stopped, concentrating on the feel of her fingers. "Let me go," she breathed into his ear.

He flung his head back. He snatched her hands, pinned them above her head. She was breathing hard, the motion pushing her breasts up against his chest. He shuddered, stared down at her. The pain in his head was sharper now, needing a target. He remembered the taste of devil's blood, splashed against his mouth as he fought. He found the laces at her collar, yanked them open, baring her throat to him.

The soft skin there was still mapped with welts.

_He had warned her, hadn't he? He had explained what would happen to him here, in Cania. _

He dropped his mouth against her neck, and heard her moan as his teeth dug into her skin. The sensation of her twisting beneath him sent him over the edge.

He sank her teeth into her flesh, tasted the blood that spilled across his lips.

She screamed and writhed against him. Tried to bring her knees up, but he pressed down harder.

A small shape galloped across the cave and latched onto his shoulder, beating clenched fists against him. "Leave Boss alone!"

He raised his head, worked one hand free of her wrists. He snatched up the small, kicking creature, noticed only that it was scaly and winged and furious. He heaved the little thing away, did not hear the shriek as it hit the cave wall hard.

He buried his face against the woman's neck, let his tongue wander over the blood and torn flesh. He could feel her moving, shaking as she tried to gulp down air. He levered up on one elbow, looked down at her curiously.

_She was crying_.

Her eyes were tightly closed while tears leaked down her face. Blood soaked her collar. He reached out, touched the wetness on her cheeks.

_He had seen her cry before_.

When the Reaper called him back, swept him up from death, and brought him to her. He had opened his arms, and she had pressed herself against his chest, and he had drank in her scent and the feel of her against him.

_What had he said?_

"_Jaiyan, it's alright. You're here, now, with me. It's alright."_

He stiffened. _This was wrong. Bedamned to the pounding his head, this was entirely wrong_.

He pushed off her, crashed onto his knees. His breathing was ragged, and his chest hurt. He stared down at her, at the tears on her face. _He could not stay here_. _Not while he kept looking back to the blood at her throat_.

Shaking all over, Valen made it past the fire. His eyes were clouding, with tears or rage, or both. He knew, now, that he was still no better than the monster who had reveled in slaughter in the Abyss. He stumbled out into the cold wasteland beyond, fiercely hoping that she would have the good sense to leave him behind this time.


	44. Chapter 44

_**Chapter Forty-Four - Found**_

Inside the cave, Jaiyan heard his footsteps fade. She rolled over and winced. Her throat throbbed. Tentatively, she explored the bleeding wounds. She swallowed, angrily blinked away tears.

"Boss?" Deekin's claws patted at her sleeve.

She glanced down at him. "Are you alright?"

The kobold shrugged. He was bruised, and the curve of one wing seemed bent a little out of shape. "Deekin be alright. Goat-man gone?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Deekin tilted his head to one side. "Boss wants to go after him?"

She managed another nod.

"What if he still has red eyes?"

"Then we'll tie him up. Maybe even with his own tail." She scrubbed her hands through her hair. "Gods, the things I do for this tiefling."

"Why, Boss?" Deekin's eyes glittered wickedly. "Why not leaves him there?"

She gave him a half-hearted glower. "Don't act all innocent. You know damn well why."

Deekin rustled his wings. He ambled past the fire, began to sort through the packs. "Of course Deekin does. Deekin…heard you and Goat-man."

"You did _what?_"

"Deekin's room be near to Boss's room," he reminded her archly. "At first Deekin thought Boss might be being killed by tiefling, but then Deekin remembers about strange things that humans like to do together."

"Is _that_ going in your book?"

"Not sure," he answered thoughtfully. "Maybe better if Deekin not write _that_ kind of book."

Jaiyan laughed, despite the thickness in her throat. She crouched down, grabbed Deekin's scaly wrist as he returned with the packs. "You've got to stop standing up to him," she said warningly. "He's a lot bigger than you. I thought he'd really hurt you."

"Deekin nots like seeing Boss get hurt."

Her eyes blurred with tears again. She hugged him, ignoring the yelp of surprise and the uncomfortable ridges on his wings. "You're too brave for your own good."

"Nope. Deekin terrified of dracolich. And ilithid. And drow fortress."

She smiled and let him go. "Everything packed?"

Deekin nodded briskly. "Goat-man be leaving heavy prints in the snow, Deekin thinks."

"I'm counting on it. But I want you to stay here." Over Deekin's noise of complaint, she added, "What if he comes back here? He'll think we've left him."

"Boss not tracker, though. Not properly. And it very cold out there."

"Yes, but he's upset and not thinking straight. I don't think he'll get very far." She accepted a pack, slung it over her shoulder. "At least, I hope not. He should have calmed down by now, so I don't think he'll hurt you."

"Don't _think?_" Deekin folded his arms. "That nots be very reassuring, Boss. Goat-man be really _tall_."

"I know. But couldn't you just…fly or something?" She buckled her sword alongside the pack.

"Fly?" Deekin regarded her scornfully. "Boss thinks it that easy to stay above tall tiefling's head for long time?"

"Then I suppose I'll have to find him first." She wrapped a heavy cloak around herself. "Be careful, alright?"

He nodded seriously. "Boss be careful too?"

"I promise."

"Boss?"

"Yes?"

Deekin shrugged. "Goat-man be worth this?"

She stopped. "Are you asking me because you think I don't know, or are you asking me just to make sure?"

"Second one, Deekin thinks."

A shudder unreeled through her. "He's…have you ever felt utterly accepted? Safe, and completely alright? Knowing that you utterly trust someone?"

"Yes," Deekin said, immediately. "With Boss." He frowned. "But…all that moaning and sighing…Boss can do that with Goat-man. Deekin doesn't want to know about that."

Jaiyan choked on a laugh. "Really?"

"What, really?"

"Really, you feel that, with me?"

Deekin nodded. "Yes," he said, simply.

_There will be time to think about this,_ she told herself. _Time when Valen isn't out there in the cold. _"Deekin…"

"It be alright, Boss. Go find Goat-man." He touched her hand gently. "Boss?"

"Yes?"

"Deekin likes seeing Boss so happy. Even when Goat-man be acting crazy."

She wondered if the fact that his words made sense meant she had already gone mad. She clasped his shoulder. "Deeks?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"We're talking about this when we get back. You understand?"

"Yes, Boss."

With that, she braced herself for the bite of the wind and stepped outside. Whiteness stretched before her, lidded by night-dark sky. The wind snapped at her cloak, and the cold raked her lungs. She pushed forward, head down, and winced as the air stung the open cuts on her throat.

Sunk into the snow ahead were Valen's footprints. He had blundered into the howling weather without cape or gloves, though he had remembered his flail. Then again, she recalled wryly, the same blood that drove him to murderous rage would keep him warm.

She pushed on through the slippery snow, thinking of anything but the numbing cold, her eyes fixed on the footprints. She remembered running into Deekin, on another snowbound evening, what seemed like years ago. Before Halaster's geas, before the Underdark, before the Seer's prophecy; before Valen.

The snow had been thick and soft, that night, and she had seen a small figure half-hidden near a stand of pine trees. He had stepped forward hesitantly, something clutched in his hands. She had not quite been able to bring herself to be afraid of a shivering, frightened kobold holding a broken tower statue, so she had agreed to help him.

She glared down through the whirling snow at Valen's widening footprints. He must have been running, crossing the snow with enviably large strides. "Damn you, tiefling. Where are you?"

An hour of laborious slogging later, her feet were slowly going numb and her gloves were soaked. Ice crystals twisted the damp ends of her hair. She peered through the tumbling snow, could see no more than four feet ahead. She could not afford to lose time; already the snow was swallowing his footprints.

Vehemently determined, she shielded her eyes and pressed on. The sword was solid and cold against her side. Her hands were cramped and icy inside her gloves. She found herself muttering, trying to anchor her wavering thoughts. "Where are you hiding, tiefling?"

She blinked away snowflakes caught on her eyelashes. Everything seemed to be white and looming. She forced herself forward a step, through deep, driving snow. Her breath plumed. The cloak dragged behind her, trailing through the snow, wicking up the dampness.

"Valen," she murmured; using his name as some kind of talisman. "Valen…Valen…Valen..."

She stared down at the snow; it seemed smooth and unruffled. _She had been following his tracks moments ago. How could this have happened? _Jaiyan dropped to her knees, reached out, touched the snow. "Where are you?"

Every breath seemed to make her chest ache. Her hand brushed the snow, but she did not feel it. If her teeth still chattered, she could not tell. "Valen…"

The cloak seemed an unwieldy, cold weight about her shoulders. She considered shucking it off, before she remembered that it shielded her from the screaming wind.

_Those berries_. _The drink from the dragon innkeeper._

She fumbled with the straps on the pack, somehow yanked it round. She should find the berries and the vines, light them, warm up, and keep searching. She dug through the folded shirts and wrapped food with numbed hands. Her knees felt welded to the snow. "Valen, where are you..?"

She could not find the velox berries; better, perhaps, to just stop. She sank back on her heels and stared at the whiteness. Above, only clouds, black and roiling. Jaiyan leaned forward, pillowed her head on her arms. Ice crackled along the collar of her cloak. Her hair was rimed and heavy, pulling her down.

_Maybe, if she just slept, she would wake refreshed, and ready to journey on through the tumbling snow. _

She dreamed of the whiteness and the snow, and the dark sky. Haunting her even in sleep, she saw the ice ramparts and the cold ravines, cut by the howling wind.

Jaiyan snapped her eyes open. She registered that her lashes were crusted with ice, that her hands seemed frozen to her pack. The deep cold seemed to invade her very flesh, to lock inside her bones.

She stumbled to her feet, snapping her cloak away from the surface. She staggered ten steps, half-unseeing, not caring that she had left the pack abandoned behind her. She crashed down onto her knees again, caught her lip between her teeth. The sudden heat of the blood in her mouth startled her. Her hands closed in the snow, while she realized wryly that her ankles were too stiff and too cold to move properly.

She curled against her cloak, and was more satisfied than shocked that she could no longer feel the wind.

The sleep that claimed her was fitful, and trapped her for moments or hours; she could no longer tell. She watched the shape of her icy breath, billowing against the snow beneath her cheek.

She was too cold to be surprised when rough, large hands came down on her shoulders. "Jaiyan? What in the Nine Hells are you doing out here, you stupid girl?"

She framed the right answer in her head, but her lips were blue and she could not form the words.

"Crazy woman." Gruffly angry, and the one voice she wanted to hear. "If you get yourself killed, I'll never hear the end of it from your kobold."

She murmured something against the weave of her cloak. His hands slid under hers, gently pried her fingers away from the freezing snow. "Come on," Valen whispered. "Let's get you back before you die on me."

Jaiyan felt his arms circle her, and lift her, sword and cloak and all. She settled against his chest, sighed as she felt the heat radiating from him. "I found you," she said dreamily.

"Sort of," he answered. "What were you doing out here, silly girl?"

She felt him moving, covering the ground in long strides. "Looking for you," she said accusingly. "Couldn't find you. Thought I lost you."

Her head fell against the crook of his shoulder, and he shook her. "Stay awake, Jaiyan. I need you to stay awake."

"Why?" she demanded. "You'll just leave me again anyway."

She heard the catch in his breath. "No, I won't. Not again. Stay awake, my love. Please."

"How?"

"I don't know. Shout at me. Berate me. Anything you want." He settled one arm under her knees, tried to press her more firmly against his chest.

"Stupid tiefling," she muttered. He was walking faster, following her path back to the cave. She could feel the thump of his heartbeat. She breathed in his heat and mumbled, "You owe me for this, idiot."

"That's a start at least."

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Inside the cave, Valen found Deekin about ready to explode from worry. The kobold paced around the fire, turned expectantly as he heard Valen's feet against the snow outside. "Is Boss alright?" He launched across the cave, glaring. He took in the limp shape cradled against Valen's chest, the ice-crusted hair and the dangling hands. "Did you do that to her?"

"Yes," he answered softly, honestly. "I need some water heated, and maybe something strung up over the cave mouth."

Deekin clicked his teeth. "You nots going to hurt Boss again?"

Valen carefully laid her down on his cloak, left abandoned on the other side of the fire. "No. I'll try not to."

The little kobold scuttled past, started digging in the packs for a pot. "Deekin understands."

Valen arched an eyebrow. "You do?"

"It be this place, not you. Deekin sees it in your eyes, when you come back from it every time."

Valen looked away, stricken. He busied himself finding heavy blankets. While Deekin scooped loose snow into the pot and balanced it over the fire, the tiefling piled the blankets, gently rolled Jaiyan onto the folds.

Deekin approached, scrutinized her white face and lifeless hands. "Boss got cold?"

"Very cold." Valen dropped a clump of velox vines onto the fire, watched as the flames roared up. He turned back to Jaiyan, started by cautiously peeling her gloves off. The skin beneath was waxen and icy to the touch. He moved on to her hair, combed the dripping ice away, wrapped a blanket around the loose, damp strands. He glanced at her slack mouth; she was breathing, shallow and slow.

Wind howled in through the curved entrance, dragging at the fire. "Have you got any kind of spell that could shield us?"

Deekin tilted his head on one side. "Deekin could try. Deekin not sure. Just to keep the wind out?"

"Yes." While the bard started rifling through his collection of scrolls and songs, Valen stroked Jaiyan's cold cheek. She did not stir. He leaned over her, unlaced her boots, tugged them off. Noticed, in relief, that her feet were free of frostbite. He moved on to her soaked leathers, very gently worked them down over her hips. He trailed a hand down the outside of her thigh, hating the sensation of her icy, pebbled skin.

"Perhaps this one work," Deekin announced thoughtfully. He lifted the scroll into the firelight and chanted, a strange, alien combination of syllables that prickled the skin between Valen's shoulders.

A blurred, shimmering wall crackled across the cave mouth. The firelight steadied. "Thank you." Valen did not look up from untying the knots on Jaiyan's shirt. "Will you come here and help me?"

Deekin stepped around the fire, stared down at Jaiyan's white skin. "Help how?"

"Take this." Valen pressed a folded cloth into his hands. "Dip in into the water, but make sure it's not boiling. Just warm. And rub it along her skin. We need to get some heat back into her."

Deekin crushed the cloth between nervous fingers. "Deekin touch Boss? Naked?"

Valen stifled a sudden, ill-timed chuckle. "Yes. Naked. Look, I need you to help me, or she may die. I'm sure she'll forgive you for it later."

"Maybe," Deekin conceded. He checked the water and soaked the cloth. "Though I think Boss only want Goat-man seeing her like this, now."

Valen coughed and hoped his hair hid his reddened cheeks. He loosened the shirt, slipped the sodden garment off Jaiyan's narrow shoulders. His stomach twisted; for the first time, she looked entirely helpless. With her skin the colour of chalk, and her wiry, scarred body laid bare to the firelight, she appeared too young, too small, and too forlorn.

"Goat-man blushes a lot around Boss." Deekin's piping voice banished his thoughts. "Is that because you likes her, or because you is so pale?"

"Both, I imagine," he answered absently. "Come here and help me."

Apprehensively, Deekin leaned over her still form, began wiping the warm cloth along her arms. "Like this?"

"Like that." Valen found another cloth and joined him. He stroked the length of her sides, over old scars. Blushing furiously again, he swept the cloth over the rise of her breasts and down to her stomach. "Say nothing," he growled.

Deekin blinked innocently. "Deekin not even looking."

He spread his hand against her leg. "She seems a little warmer." He worked his way down to her shins, rubbed her feet briskly. "Alright. Let's move her a bit closer to the fire."

While Deekin spread the blanket nearer the flames, the tiefling scooped her up easily. He laid her on her back and wrapped her with more blankets.

"What now?" Deekin demanded.

"We wait." Valen sighed and scrubbed a hand back through his hair. "We wait until she wakes."

Deekin shrugged. "Goat-man want drink, then?"

The tiefling sighed. "Why not?"

While Deekin rummaged around, Valen leaned forward, stroked Jaiyan's cheek. "I need you to wake up, my love. I need you to wake up and be here." He pressed a trembling kiss to her forehead.

"Boss not be worried about anyone else as much as Boss worries about Goat-man," the kobold said slyly over one shoulder. "Deekin think Boss got it _bad_."

Valen distracted himself by tracing the slope of Jaiyan's cheekbones. He sat back, accepted a cup of spiced wine. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Deekin not ever see Boss worry about someone so much." Deekin shot him a sidelong look. "But what will Goat-man do afterwards? After big red devil is dead?"

"_If_ we survive, and _if_ she even wants to be near me…"

"Think she doesn't?"

Valen's gaze landed on Jaiyan again, and his heart twisted. "Who _would?_"

Deekin blinked innocuously. "So _if_ Boss wants to be near you, then..?"

"I would hardly force her to come to Sigil with me. But she has no idea what it's like, to be seen with a tiefling in a world like Toril."

"Almost has," Deekin corrected him briskly. "Boss gets seen with Deekin lots. Boss causes trouble for people who cause trouble for Deekin."

Valen smiled. "I can imagine. What was she like, when you first met her?"

"Like she is now." His wings rustled as he shrugged. "But younger."

"That's helpful."

"True, though." Deekin sighed and elaborated, "Boss be cocky young adventurer girl. But don't say that Deekin said that." He tipped the cup back, drank. "Deekin not think Boss go up against anything too huge yet. Boss not…broken." He looked sharply at Valen. "Not like Goat-man."

The silly nickname did not mask the knowing tone. "I know." Valen's tail lashed angrily. "For a kobold, you don't miss much, do you?"

"Deekin worried that big arch-devil might be _too_ big."

"So am I." Valen leaned his head back against the stone tiredly. "I would do anything to keep her from harm. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Yes." Deekin unfurled his wings to catch the heat. "But Deekin worried that if something happen to Goat-man, Boss be too sad to keep going. That's why you gots to stay with her. Even if you goes crazy."

"Even if I hurt her?"

Deekin waved a hand airily. "Deekin see the punch Boss gave you. Boss be nearly as crazy as you."

Valen could not quite manage a smile. "Did I…hurt you earlier?"

"Nope. Well, not much." Deekin refilled his cup. "It be alright. You be not _you_. But if Goat-man does that when eyes are still blue…" Deekin shook his head warningly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't…even know you."

"Deekin understands. Just…maybe Goat-man could try not to hit Boss so much? Even when blood calls?"

Valen looked away. Something in the kobold's earnest dark stare threatened to break him. "I'll try," he whispered.

The blankets beside him rustled; he turned in time to see Jaiyan shifting over. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary and confused. Valen leaned over her, stroked her cheek. "Jaiyan?"

"What..?" She swallowed hard, stared blankly up at him. "It was cold…"

He scooped up her hands, gently rubbed her palms. "It's alright. I found you."

A vague, bewildered frown creased her face. "Me? But I was looking for _you_."

"I know." He tipped a waterskin up to her mouth, made her drink. "Go back to sleep, my love. I'll be here when you wake."

She smiled dreamily. "Stay?"

"Of course I'll stay." He could not suppress a shiver as she gathered his tail against her, curled around it like a child with a teddy bear. "Go to sleep."

Valen cupped her cheek, watched as her eyes closed again. He glanced up, saw Deekin studying him curiously. "What?"

"Deekin just glad Boss not like Deekin's tail that much."

Despite himself, despite the cold and the anxiety that plagued him, Valen laughed out loud. "Really?"

"Yes," the kobold sniffed disdainfully. "Deekin couldn't work, if Boss was holding onto his tail all the times."


	45. Chapter 45

_**Chapter Forty-Five – Promises**_

"_Get him up." Hands reached down, hauling him to his feet. His sword had fallen somewhere, and he hurt all over. His opponent's blade had sliced deep cuts along his stomach, and his shoulders was pierced. Sustaining injuries was part of any bout in the arena, but this time, when he coughed, he tasted blood. _

_"Wait, please." He lifted his head. "I need healing." _

_They dragged him away, up smooth steps and into an oval chamber he knew well. There, he was forced onto his knees. Blood dripped from his body, splashed against the polished black stone. Someone grabbed a handful of his hair, yanked his head up. _

_"You fail again and again," his mother said, softly. She stood before him, resplendent in black and silver. _

_"No," he mumbled. "I didn't fail. My opponent is dead. What more do you want?"_

_She slapped him, hard enough that his head rang. "Foolish male. Yes, your opponent no longer breathes, but look at you! Soaked in blood and barely worth the effort of keeping you alive. Tell me, should we bother?"_

_He glared up into her crimson eyes. Part of him wanted to snarl defiance at her, to tell her that she certainly should not, not if she thought so little of him as son and soldier. _

_But she smiled, that cold, thoughtful smile that made her servants tremble. His resolve crumbled, and he heard himself murmur, "Please. Please, Matron Mother." _

_"You will be punished for your lapse afterwards." _

_With that, she swept away, leaving him in the hands of her priestesses. They healed him quickly, and he expected the lash to be next, or perhaps hot irons. Instead, one of them lifted him to his feet again, and guided him to her chambers. The door closed and locked behind him, and he shivered. _

_So, it was to be the other way round. If he did not perform to her satisfaction, he would be sent back down for his punishment. _

_The priestess stood before him, undeniably beautiful. She had taken him before, and he knew with uncomfortable certainty that her smile had nothing to do with gentle pleasures. _

_The priestess trailed her fingertips down his face. "Why so silent, male?"_

_"Forgive me, mistress." _

_"Hmm. Perhaps." She smiled again, and knotted her hand in his hair. "Please me, and we shall see."_

Imloth woke, opened his eyes to a dark room and the feeling of clean sheets. He shifted, and realized that he wore very little beyond leggings and the bandages wrapped thick around his middle.

Slender, ebony hands descended into his field of vision, and he flinched away.

"Ssh. Be still." The Seer paused beside him, let him see her properly. "You were dreaming."

"Yes…nothing good." He exhaled slowly. He could still taste the heady incense in the priestess' chambers, and the scented oils that clung to her skin.

"Your mother?"

"Yes. And priestesses." He shivered, tried to push the thoughts away. He moved again, and gasped. "Oh…that hurts."

"Yes." The Seer sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, but we were nearly out of healing potions. I did what I could, but my spells ran dry when we fought off the pit fiend. I cleaned and stitched the wound."

Heat flooded his face and neck. _You did? You touched me?_ "Thank you."

"You will be fine. They're brewing potions downstairs, and you'll have them when they're done." Her hands twisted on the covers. "You were very badly hurt."

He remembered the pit fiend's sword slicing into his side. "How's my armour?"

She laughed softly. "It can be repaired, if you must know. Though you are going nowhere near it until you're healed."

"How did I get inside?"

"Durnan carried you," the Seer said. "You were bleeding so much…"

Her voice caught. He looked up at her face, but her hair had fallen across her eyes. "Seer, I…"

"The wound was neat," she said, quickly. "I'm hoping there will be no infection."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Long enough. Nearly two days." She stared down at her linked hands. "There was another attack."

"What?" Imloth lurched up, and the breath hissed between his teeth. His head pounded as he slumped back against the pillows. "What happened?"

"They broke through the doors. We pushed them back."

There was something in her voice, some unreadable, aching note. "Seer…"

"You should not have done what you did," she whispered. Her head lifted, and her eyes were huge and bright. "You threw yourself at that thing. You could have been killed."

_What else was I supposed to do? Stand aside and watch it gut you?_ "I'm sorry," he said.

"No, I…I am not angry." She blinked, and he could have sworn he saw tears trembling in her eyes. "You were almost killed. I…would not have wanted that."

He smiled raggedly. "Neither would I. I rather like breathing."

She laughed, softly, almost guiltily. "I'll ask Durnan to send some food up for you. You must be hungry."

_No, please stay. _"Yes," he answered. "Seer?"

"Yes, Imloth?"

"You were not hurt?"

"No. I was not." She steeled herself as if to stand. "Sleep after you've eaten. I'll wake you when we have some potions brewed."

She was hovering, he realized. _Giving herself excuses to stay longer._ _Why would she do that..?_ "Thank you."

The Seer reached out, and closed her hand over his. He nearly jumped, held himself still as she turned his hand over, explored his slender fingers. _What are you doing?_

He wanted to speak, wanted to tell her that, whatever it was she was doing, he liked it. But words failed him again, and he found himself simply watching.

She lifted his hand, and very gently pressed her lips against his palm. Heat raced across his skin and he wondered if she could feel him shaking. But before he could speak, she gathered her robes and stepped away from the bed, from him. He heard the door close and sighed.

_Well. _Now_ what do you do?_

He flipped the sheets aside, peered down at the swathe of bandages. Blood showed through in dark patches, and the skin around the wrappings was hot and swollen. He touched his fingertips to the bandages and cringed at the sudden pain. Feeling somewhat resigned, Imloth turned carefully onto his side, buried his head against the pillows, and drifted off into odd, uneven dreams.

Downstairs, Durnan sat in the armoury, helping one of his own men and two drow soldiers fletch arrows and smooth out notches on swords. Soft footsteps reached the doorway, and he looked at the Seer. She was exhausted, he could see. Her thin, frail frame seemed strung together with glass, and just as apt to break.

Durnan gave her a raking stare. "How is he?"

"Awake," she said, quietly. "I worry that the wound will become infected. It was very deep."

"You cleaned him up, right?"

"Yes."

"Then all you can do is wait." Durnan shrugged. "Is he hungry?"

"He's pretending to be."

"Then fetch him a tray and make him eat. Stupid boy's not eaten in days."

She smiled slightly. "Perhaps…I have to help my clerics. Perhaps…you could?"

"Oh, aye?" He scrutinized her, tried to read beneath the serene mask of her face. "Very well. When will be having healing potions, do you think?"

"Not long. But then my clerics will have to sleep, replenish their spells."

"You too," Durnan said firmly. "You look as like to fall over as anything else right now."

The Seer opened her mouth to protest, smiled wanly, and said, "Perhaps. But I do not think I will sleep, in any case."

"Your choice. If you drop in the hallway, that's where you rest." Durnan shrugged and stamped out into the corridor. _If she wants to wear herself out moping, it's none of your business_. He shook himself irritably. _Why then do you have the urge to pack her off to sleep like she's ten years old? _

Grousing to himself under his breath, he ambled into the kitchen and found himself _yet again_ ferrying food around for a drow. _And if it's not food, it's weapons or armour. Can' t they do their own fetching and carrying? _

Soup, bread, and watered down wine, and if the drow was used to anything else while recuperating, Durnan figured he would not have the strength to complain in any case.

The room he had dumped Imloth in two nights ago, bleeding and shaking, was tucked away around the corner of the second landing. When Tamsil had been younger, she had chosen the room until she considered it too small and too boring.

Durnan shouldered the door open. He was met by warm firelight and Imloth's rasping breathing. A quick glance at the bed showed the drow sleeping. The innkeeper shrugged and laid the tray on the small table nearby.

His gaze flicked back to the drow, and he frowned.

The blankets had slipped to his waist, revealing sweat-sheened black skin. Blood bloomed through the bandages, splotched the sheet beneath. His hair was damp, and more sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. Durnan crouched beside the bed, reached out with a careful hand. The drow's forehead was on fire, his temples ribboned with sweat.

"Oh, great gods." _He's fevered_. _Of all the bad timing…_

He found the Seer with her clerics, leaning over the boiling contents of a cauldron. Durnan pushed past two of his own sentries and glared at the bubbling potion. "Is that done yet?"

The Seer shook her head. "No…it needs to bide a little longer, then cool." Her expression shifted, became concerned. "What's happened?"

"Your lad upstairs," Durnan barked. "He's soaked in sweat and hot as the hells."

"Show me," the Seer ordered. Her voice was threaded with steel, and the innkeeper saw something of the leader Imloth claimed she was.

The drow was twisting in the sheets when Durnan ushered the Seer into the room. His hands clenched in the fabric, and he whimpered. The Seer knelt, touched the back of her hand to his face.

"He's fevered, yes?" Durnan demanded.

"Yes. And there is little I can do." The Seer's huge eyes were trained on the drow's face. "Except hope."

"He could work himself through it."

"If the wound sickens, he will die." The Seer inspected the bandages. "He's bleeding again…"

Durnan heard the raw helplessness in her voice, and wondered how long she had maintained her composure, only for _this_ to finally tear through it.

"I need to get the bandages off him." Her voice steadied a little. "Get the water from the table, and the cloths, and then you must help me."

On any other day, Durnan would have bristled at such cavalier treatment. But these were strange times, and the restrained panic in her was all too human. So he obeyed, and knelt beside her with the bowl in one hand, cloths in the other. "What do you need?"

She leaned over the drow's lean, coiled frame. Her fingertips brushed the bandages, and he moaned and rolled away from her. His face turned into the pillow, and he muttered something.

"What did he say?"

Imloth's head whipped to one side, and he spoke again, snarling strange words from between gritted teeth.

"He's speaking our language," the Seer said softly.

"What's he _saying?_"

The Seer regarded the drow for a long, sorrowful moment. "He's…pleading with his mistress to stop the pain."

Durnan swallowed. "Damn drow and your strange ways." He shook his head, tore his gaze from Imloth's shuddering form. "No wonder you lot wanted to leave."

The Seer brushed Imloth's hair away from his face. "The cloths, please."

Durnan dipped the first cloth in water, handed it across. Watched as the Seer mopped the sweat from the drow's cheeks and chin and forehead. The cloth descended down his chest, and Durnan saw the Seer's expression change. She wiped it along the edge of the bandages, and Imloth hissed.

With careful, narrow fingers, she found the ties on the bandages, loosened them. Blood leaked across his ebony skin, dripped onto the sheets. Very carefully, she lifted the wrappings, and Durnan saw her bite her lip as blood gushed.

_Must've torn the stitches sleeping,_ the innkeeper thought. _Foolish drow. _

Imloth's eyes snapped open, pale and wide and full of fear. Every muscle on his lean frame went tense, and he growled something in drow.

"Be still," the Seer murmured, in the manner of someone soothing a spooked horse. "Imloth…you're safe. You're with friends. Be still."

His eyes rolled, taking in the Seer, the room, and the innkeeper past her shoulder. He drew in a shuddering, painful breath. He whispered something else that Durnan could not understand. It was an odd language, the innkeeper reckoned, all soft and sibilant, like snakes snarling at each other.

"We're on the surface," the Seer said gently. "You've been injured. You're safe."

Some of the tension emptied from him. "I…remember," he said, haltingly. "Forgive me…I was dreaming. I woke and I did not…" His face creased with pain. "It hurts."

"I know. I need to have a look at the stitches and change the bandages." At his nod of assent, the Seer explored the ugly wound. The skin along the edges was sticky and hot, the flesh beneath inflamed. "We need you drinking healing potions." She touched a pulled stitch, and he bit back a groan. "Durnan? I'm sorry, but could you…?"

"I'll go and see," he answered gruffly. "Keep him awake while I'm gone."

_You're worried_, some small voice in his head taunted him. _You're worried about a damn darkling croaking on you. Never thought you'd see _that_ day, did you?_

Durnan gritted his teeth, ignored himself, and went in search of the Seer's clerics.

The pain thumped through him in waves. It had been quite some time since such agony had rendered him entirely useless. Watching, as the Seer gently pried out torn stitches, he saw that the wound was all one long cut, slicing three inches deep above his hip, if he guessed right. He stared at her nimble, thin fingers as they danced above his skin, applying just enough pressure to slip out the stitches.

_You know so little about her_, he thought dazedly. _Do you know how old she is? What happened when she pledged herself to Eilistraee? Do you even know what her _name_ is?_

_And yet here you are, lying half-naked while she mends a hole in your side. _

Drow tended not to trouble themselves overmuch about nudity; and yet, Imloth felt curiously vulnerable beneath her feather-light touch.

"I'm going to stitch you again," she warned. "Hold onto something."

He clenched his hands in the pillow, and hissed when the needle sank into his skin. She was quick, but the sting was eye-watering, and Imloth felt an undignified whimper escape his lips as she tied off the thread. Next she wrapped clean bandages across the wound, motioned him up off the bed as she looped them around him.

"Seer?"

Her head was still tilted over him as she folded the bandages. "Yes, Imloth?"

"I'm sorry."

She glanced up at him. "Why are you sorry?"

He tried to shrug, and winced when the attempt failed painfully. "There are many other wounded."

"Yes," she allowed. "But I am with you."

He tipped his head back against the pillows. "Seer…earlier, just before you left me…" _What are you going to do? Blame your audacity on blood loss? If you were anywhere else, and she was anyone else, she'd've already had you flogged for general uselessness. _

"Yes," she said, too quickly. "I am sorry. I don't…I am sorry."

He opened his eyes, steadied his nerves, and murmured, "I'm not."

She smiled. She said nothing, only cleaned away sweat and blood from around the bandages. "After the healing potions, you must eat."

"Yes. And you must sleep."

"I know." She straightened up, sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She touched his forehead. "Your skin is cooler. I think you'll be alright. That being said, I said that last time as well."

"I promise I still trust your judgment." He allowed himself another smile. He sat up against the pillows, gasped as he jarred himself. He was about to snap something about feeling helpless when the door open, and Durnan bustled back in, a satchel of potions over one arm, and a scowl on his lined face.

"What?" Imloth asked. "What's happened?"

The innkeeper uncorked a bottle, passed it to the drow. "Drink this down. The cleric says it's still warm, but it'll work. Taste foul, though, mark me."

He swallowed half of it and shuddered. "She was right. What's happened?"

"Movement, outside." Durnan exhaled sharply. "There's undead all around us. And…"

Imloth studied the innkeeper's shadowed eyes. "And, what?"

"And the arch-devil." The innkeeper shrugged helplessly. "My sentries up on the roof saw it. One of them got down. Six of them are still up there. What's left of them, anyway."

"Where is it now?" Imloth demanded.

"Behind its lackeys, somewhere." Durnan passed across another healing potion. "Keeping drinking."

He drained the contents, gritted his teeth as his empty stomach rebelled. "Where's my armour?"

The Seer stared at him. "Imloth, no."

"What else do you propose?" Anger threaded through him, brittle and weary. "That I lie here while the inn burns down around me?"

"You're injured," she said, her tone steely. "If you tear yourself up, you'll die."

"I can't…don't you understand? I _can't_ lie here." He snatched a third bottle from the innkeeper. "How quickly do these work?"

"Not quick enough." The Seer tilted her head to one side. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," he said, quietly stubborn to the core. "I've never been good at sitting and listening to other people die," he added venomously.

"Very well." The Seer regarded him through millpond eyes. "Stay still."

Before he could protest, she laid one hand on his bare shoulder, and spread the other over his bandages. The air around her shimmered and buckled, and he heard the familiar snap and whine of magic. Her fingers glowed silver, almost too bright to look at, and warmth flooded his torso. Another arcane surge, and his skin prickled. "What are you doing…?"

"Healing you," she gasped through locked teeth.

A third, wrenching swell hit him, almost painfully intense. She lifted her hands, and he saw sweat drip from the angle of her cheekbone, slide down to her chin. "Seer…"

"I am fine," she said. Her fingers shook as hugged her robes around her shoulders. "I just…need to sleep."

"You should not have done that," he muttered.

"Why? Were you so intent on marching out to face Mephistopheles while bleeding?"

"No, I…" He scowled. "You should not have done that."

She smiled, and he saw that even her lips trembled. She leaned over him again, gently loosened the bandages. Beneath, his skin was smooth obsidian, not scarred. "Layers of skin and muscle. That was a deep wound."

"Here, lad." Durnan threw him his shirt and tunic, scooped up from the table. "Get these on and we'll get you geared up, if you're that fixed on being insane."

He tugged the shirt on, realized with an odd thrill that his muscles moved easily; that there was no pain. The tunic followed, black and soft and close-fitting. He fumbled with the cuff ties, aware of the Seer's gaze on him. He swung his legs onto the floor, was almost surprised when the floor did not reel beneath him. "Seer?"

She looked up at him, small and frail where she perched on the bed. "Yes?"

"Go to sleep," he said, gently. "Please."

"Sleep, while the inn burns down around me?" The Seer raised a white eyebrow.

He shook his head. "I won't let that happen."

She studied his face with a knowing smile. "Very well. Imloth? Be safe this time."

He turned away from her. He knew that if he stayed longer he would tarry, make sure that she was comfortable, that she was safe. And there was little time, and certainly none to waste on distractions. _And you've been doing _so_ well on that count_.

Silently, he trailed Durnan downstairs, ducking between armed men. He could hear shouts as they braced against the doors. Harsh red light flared through the boards hammered over the infirmary windows. The Seer's clerics still hunched over their cauldrons, the air above twined with steam. Footsteps rang above, as sentries bolted up to the roof.

In the armoury, the innkeeper snapped at the handful of men fumbling with arrows and quivers. "Get up on that roof, _now! _Who's out in the street?"

"Garlyn," one of the men mumbled. "He went out before the sun went down. Not back since."

"Then he's likely dead," Durnan surmised. "Lad?"

Imloth blinked, realized the innkeeper was addressing him. "Yes..?"

"Where do you want to be?"

"Let me gather my soldiers. Take the boards off one window. Just one. We'll go out into the street that way."

Durnan stared, horrified. "You'll be trapped."

Imloth looked back at him, implacable. "Inside, we're useless. And if that door goes, you're all dead."

"Look, lad, you don't have to prove anything…"

"I'm proving nothing. I'm taking my soldiers, and we'll push back whatever's out there."

Durnan folded his arms. "Just remember, lad, I never asked you to die defending this place."

"I know." Imloth tried to roll some of the tension from his shoulders. "I need your archers ready. Where's my armour?"

"Battered the hells out of it, you did. Take a team of smiths hours to hammer out the creases. Besides, there's a bloody great hole in the side of it. Come here, and we'll find something for you to wear."

Imloth stiffened. _But it's _my_ armour,_ he thought furiously. "But…what here is likely to fit me?"

Durnan laughed. "You can have an old chain shirt of Mhaere's. Leathers as well. Suits you?"

Imloth bit back a sharp reply, and nodded. Feeling horribly out of place, he heaved on the leathers the innkeeper proffered. They fit snugly, hugged his hips and his shoulders. "These didn't belong to your daughter, did they?"

"No." Durnan smirked. "Jaiyan wore them a time or two, though."

Imloth sighed. "Kill me now."

"I thought you liked her."

"I _did_ like her, but you're looking at me like it's the funniest thing in the world."

Durnan threw the chain shirt at him, and his grin widened. "Well, I always thought of Jaiyan as a skinny little thing."

"Yes, very amusing." Imloth snapped the clasps closed and buckled the chain shirt on over the top. "Where will you be?"

"At the door," Durnan answered. "Lad?"

Imloth paused, his hands on his sword, halfway to slinging it alongside his bow and quiver. "Yes?"

"Try to come back."

He could hear shouts from outside, the roaring sound of voices rising. Metal clanging against stone and leather and flesh. His spine prickled; his mentor had once called violence a dance, a dance that ended in death and blood. It would be dark outside, he knew; darkness that would hide him and his soldiers as they swarmed against the enemy.

He exchanged a quick look with the innkeeper, and strode around the corner. Making for the smaller section of the taproom, past the wounded, he was about to call out orders for the boards to be torn from the window in the smaller parlour. A small hand grasped his arm, and he swung round, stared into the Seer's eyes. "What are you doing down here?"

Her face was drawn and tired, her gaze sorrowful. "Imloth. I need you to…no. I want to ask you something."

"Right now?" he heard himself say. Outside, something heavy thumped into the front wall. Stone groaned, and someone shrieked. "Seer, I have to…"

"I know. Imloth, promise me something." She drew in a deep breath, and he saw her whole frame quiver. "Promise me you will come back."

"I'll try." He saw something flicker in her eyes, and restrained the urge to gather her against him. He wondered what he could possibly say that would be correct, realized there was little chance of ever seeing her again in any case, and decided to throw caution to the wind. "I will. But you have to promise me something in return."

She smiled slowly. "And what is that?"

"Wait for me." Above, the walls shook. Bright light sheared between the planks over the windows, scythed hard lines on the floor. Unable to do anything else, Imloth tore himself away from her soft gaze, and called for his soldiers to follow him, to venture out into the darkness to meet the arch-devil.


	46. Chapter 46

_**Chapter Forty-Six – The Knower of Places**_

Jaiyan stirred, felt the soft weight of a blanket around her shoulders, and something warm and solid behind her. She shifted, and Valen gently stroked the back of her neck. She was cradled against his chest while he sat against the cave wall, the blankets pulled over them both and his tail looped around her waist. "Mmm…you feel good."

She opened her eyes properly, saw firelight limning the curve of the stone walls, and Deekin, where he slept with his nose almost touching his tail.

"Good." He brushed her hair aside. "How do you feel?"

"Warm." She remembered striding out into the cold, desperately trying to find him. _Remembered how he had woken snarling from a dream, pinned her to the floor, and sunk his teeth into her throat_. "I got lost, didn't I?"

"Yes." He kissed her cheek. "I found you. Jaiyan?"

She let her head loll back against his shoulder. "Mmm?"

"I…I hurt you. Didn't I?"

Her hand slipped to the raised welts on her throat. "Yes," she said, honestly. "Valen, listen to me. It's alright. You found me out there. It's alright."

"No, I…beloved, _I hurt you_. And we're still here." He shook his head. "How can you stand me near you?"

"You asked that before," she murmured. "The answer is still the same. I love you, and I am not leaving you here."

"But what I did to you…"

She twisted round, and wondered briefly whether kissing him or slapping him would convince him faster. "Valen, listen to me. Once, after he'd had a few two many of old favourite, my father almost broke my mother's jaw."

Valen's expression crumpled. "You think I'm…"

"Oh, hells. No. Absolutely not." She bit her lip. _Well, _that_ came out wrong, didn't it? _"No, listen to me. I didn't mean it like that. I meant, he was a violent bastard who spoke with his fists every time he thought something had gone wrong. Like, having two daughters and no sons, or a life stuck in a village. He had no…reason for it."

Valen frowned. "I have no reason for what I did to you."

"You're an idiot." She leaned up, cupped his face in her hands. "You're a tiefling. You're in Cania. Valen, I _understand_. I don't hate you. And I am not going to leave you."

She was nervous; pretending otherwise was ridiculous, and she knew he would read her. _No way of knowing how far away this Knower of Places is, and no way of knowing if there'll be a contingent of devils over the next hill. _

He trailed his hand down her face. "Beloved…are you frightened of me?"

There was a trembling, tentative note in his voice that made her ache. "Not of you," she said, softly. "But I am afraid of your blood, while we're here. I'm afraid that you won't forgive yourself."

His fingertips brushed her throat. "Jaiyan, I want to be a good man. I want to die a good man. But here…" He glared at the fire, the cave walls, the snow billowing beyond. "Do you know that, anywhere else, I would _never_ have done what I did to you? Do you know that?"

"I know. Great gods in the sky, my love, when are you going to stop _moping_ and start _believing _me?"

His mouth clicked shut. "I am not moping."

"No?" She arched her eyebrows at him, loving his suddenly put-out expression. "You look rather miffed, though."

"Miffed?" His forehead furrowed. "You're making fun of me."

Jaiyan smirked. "Me? What? Never." She pulled his head down, kissed him. "Well, maybe a little."

His arms tightened around her. "You're…"

"Yes?"

"Everything." He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks. "Do you feel well enough to continue on today?"

"Me? I'm fine. Tough as old boot leather."

He lifted her chin. "You also got very cold. Does your chest hurt?"

She grinned at him. "Why don't you check?"

Valen groaned. "Is there _nothing_ you can't twist into something awful? I'm serious. How do you feel?"

"I'll be fine." She nestled herself against his muscled shoulder. "Once the sun's up, we can go, if you want."

"No, I don't want." He sighed. "Isn't there a simpler way?"

"Admit it. You'd go insane trapped in a cave with Deekin for all eternity."

He laughed softly. "True enough."

With the blanket swathed up to her neck, and her small frame turned against his chest, Jaiyan could see nothing of him save the underside of his jaw, and the loose ends of his red hair. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

He moved so that he could look down at her, his eyes level and perturbed. "What is that?"

"Your surname," she said. "Explain."

"My…surname? You want to ask about _that?_"

"Well, I've known people with some odd last names in the past, but…" She smiled at him. "Shadowbreath?"

"Well…" He took advantage of her proximity, captured her mouth for a slow, teasing kiss. "It was just something the thieves I ran with in Sigil gave me."

"What, back when you were younger, shorter and hadn't put on your own bodyweight in muscle?" She slid her arms around his waist, found the base of his tail, and stroked.

"It was when I spent most of my time lurking in godforsaken alleyways and gutters hunting dinner, after my mother died."

"Did your mother have a family name?"

"No." He blinked. "Actually, I don't know. If she did, I doubt it was _Shadowbreath_. I don't even know why it stuck…but for some stupid reason, when Grimash't found me, I told him that was my name."

"It suits you. In some strange, bizarre, tiefling-ish way." She curled against his chest again, listened to the rhythm of his breathing. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"Wake me when you see sunlight." She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. He was coiled and terse beneath her, but he slipped his hands down to her waist, held her against him. _This_, she thought, _was some version of perfect. Of course, it would be nicer if it involved silk sheets, lots of wine and an actual locked door, but we can wait. Besides, silk sheets are too slippery. _"Valen?"

"Yes?"

"Don't go anywhere."

She felt the tension drain from him, and he laughed softly before kissing the top of her head. He was deliciously warm, and the pull of sleep was too tempting. His lips touched her forehead again, and he murmured, "I promise."

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Pale sunlight slanted into the cave. Beyond, the snow sparkled, cold and uninviting, and yet somehow beautiful. Valen gazed out at the unrelenting whiteness, and tried to ignore the heavy knot that seemed to have lodged somewhere behind his sternum. The very _idea_ of stepping back out into the snowy wastes sent dread stabbing up and down his spine. He dragged his attention from the snow, and to the sleeping, relaxed shape of his lover, sprawled across his lap.

He was sitting cross-legged, and he could not quite work out how she could possibly be comfortable, slumped with her head pillowed on his thigh, and her legs tangled across his opposite knee. She had one arm loosely circled around his hips, the other lost somewhere half underneath her.

He reached down and touched the straggling end of her braid, and wondered again why she felt safe enough to sleep, so vulnerably, and so close to him.

_Because she trusts you, idiot. She's told you enough times_. He twined his fingers through her hair, enjoying the feel of it against his skin. His gaze wandered down her face, to her throat, and further down to the soft swell of her breasts. _Oh, yes, very good. You do your level best to tear her throat out, and now all you can do is ogle her._

He tipped his head back and groaned. _You're stuck in Cania and all you can think about right now is how much you'd like to think up interesting ways of wasting time with her. _

"Jaiyan?" He stroked her cheek. "Beloved? The sun's up."

She nuzzled into his hand. "Go away," she muttered. "Not getting up. Hate snow."

"So do I," he answered ruefully. "Come on, beloved. We need to get moving."

Much grumping and grousing later, the three of them slogged through newly-fallen snow under a pale, wan-looking sun. The snowfields stretched endlessly away, rising towards small hills. The air was glacially still, the sky above mirror-clear. Every breath he took knifed the cold into his lungs. Jaiyan trudged along beside him, with Deekin hopping on her other side. She stumbled through a dip in the snow and snarled something under her breath. He reached out, steadied her as she floundered back upright.

Slow hours trickled away, while Valen wondered what had happened to the Seer, and Jaiyan struggled through the snow beside him. He found himself grasping her elbow often, steering her clear of deep drifts, and wondering if she would kick him if he just caved in and carried her.

_The Seer……had she died at Lith My'athar? On the run from the Valsharess' fortress? _

Valen gritted his teeth and kept moving. Her face had floated above him as he had died, her eyes flooded and her mouth trembling. The bolt lodged in his chest had stopped his breathing, and his mouth had been thick with blood. He had tried to talk, he remembered, but she had pressed her fingers against his face and shaken her head.

_"No, Valen. Do not speak."_

_He opened his mouth again, tried to ask where Jaiyan was. She had been leaning over him, her face full of fear and her voice choked. And, between one tremulous thought and the next, she had vanished. _

_"I don't know," the Seer said, answering the mute plea in his eyes. "I don't know where she is. I am sorry." _

Icy wind screamed past him, and he jolted free of the memory. A terrible, wrenching feeling, that had been; Jaiyan gone, his lungs filling with blood, and the absolute certainty that he was going to die turning his mind blank.

Beside him, Jaiyan stopped. She pushed the Sleeping Man's ring on over one gloved finger, and he saw her face drain. He knew the strange, astral signs she saw were crucial, but he hated the way she shuddered every time she looked upon them.

_No_, some cruel voice whispered in the back of his mind. _What you really hate is how her looking at all pained reminds you of what you did to her. _

"Valen?"

He dragged his gaze away from the unrelenting snow and stared at her. "Yes..?"

"I said, there's another astral door. Just over there." She gestured vaguely at the open whiteness ahead of her. "Ready for another plunge into uncertainty?"

_Why do you love me still?_ He thought desperately. _Why do you accept me when I tried to…?_

"Valen?" Her hand caught his chin, and he saw gazing up at him, perturbed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry." He mustered a smile and kissed the cold tip of her nose. "I'm just thinking."

"Fretting," she said archly. "Fretting, moping, brooding, and possibly even languishing. If you want, I can go through the astral door first, and then you can pine as well."

He chuckled. "That won't be necessary."

"Good." She leaned up and kissed his chin. "See you on the other side."

With that, she stepped forward three paces, and something _not-quite-visible_ rippled and closed over her shoulders, and she disappeared. Valen swallowed. _I hate that. _

Deekin jumped through the gateway after her, leaving him alone with the howling wind and the snow. He had no idea what might lie on the other side of the door, and that fact alone sent coldness chasing up and down his spine.

He might step out into another skirmish, and the demon in his blood would wake, and he would do terrible things.

_Stop it. You don't know that._

_Oh, but you will, if you see battle here again. _

The worst part was the _not really remembering_. He knew he had attacked her in the cave, upon waking. He knew he had hurt her. He knew he had blundered out into the white wilderness. But when he had found her, and taken her back, and seen the marks on her throat, he had felt such _shame_.

_What kind of man mauls the woman he loves in such a way?_

_You do_, his thoughts supplied icily. _You do, because your blood is infernal and cursed._

He shook himself. The astral door waited, and so did Jaiyan, and whatever lay on the other side.

_Which she could be facing right now, you fool._

He squared his shoulders, and walked forward until the prickle of magic washed across him. His vision died, and he heard nothing but the rushing of the wind. He blinked, and opened his eyes. He reached out, and felt Jaiyan grasp his fingers.

_Her hand is so small_, he thought, not for the first time.

Wherever this was, the air was not cold. No snow blew in here, and the darkness was thick and crowding, in the manner of places long-buried underground. Small spots of white light glowed, not far away.

He looked past Jaiyan and Deekin, and blinked again.

"Doors?" he said aloud. "Moving doors?"

And there were, he realized, marveling. Doors, whispering out of the darkness, and moving dream-like past them. _Doors, _he thought, _to where? And what do they mean?_

"I saw this place," Jaiyan said, amazement clear in her voice. "When we went to see the Sleeping Man. I saw this place."

"Boss," Deekin murmured. "This be where the Knower of Places lives."

She nodded. "Yes…I remember what the Sensei said."

Ahead, a stone platform rose up, white amid the blackness and the moving doorways. Above was a shape, fluttering against the darkness. Valen stared, and found that even his Sigil-born mind was astounded.

"Valen?"

"Yes, my love?"

"What is that?"

He shrugged. "I…have no idea."

_It's…something with wings. And a woman's face._ He stared harder, and realized that the woman's face was pretty, beautiful even, all steep angles and high cheekbones and large black eyes that a man could drown in.

"Knower of Places be butterfly woman, Boss."

"Apparently."

Valen's gaze skipped across to Jaiyan, and he saw her square her shoulders. She marched up to the platform, and looked the butterfly woman in the eyes. "Are you the Knower of Places?"

The iridescent wings moved. "My love…you have returned."

"You…what?" Jaiyan frowned. "I _think_ you may have me mistaken for someone else."

"But you are here again," the woman said. "Here with me, in this place."

Jaiyan sighed, and Valen saw her expression settle into that obstinate cast that reminded him of the first weeks he had known her. "Right. Let's get one thing straight. I'm tired, cold, hungry, and I want to get out of here. I _know_ you're the Knower of Places, so tell me something about places."

"Of course, my love," the woman murmured. "Tell me where you wish your wings to take you."

"My _wings?_" Jaiyan gaped. "Oh, hells. You think I'm the Sleeping Man, don't you?"

"You bear the ring," the woman said, her voice fluting and light. "You come travelling out of the wastes of Cania, and you are lost, and desperately hoping, and your mind is heavy."

"Oh, good grief." Jaiyan shook her head. "My name is Jaiyan. I'm not sleeping, or a man, and I don't have wings. And since _you_ have _eyes_, I'd suggest you start looking."

_Definitely not a man_, Valen thought. _Not with those…_Sudden heat bloomed across his face, and he cursed himself for letting his thoughts wander again. _This is hardly the time. _

"It does not matter," the butterfly woman pointed out gently. "You are here, now, and that is _all_ that matters. Where is it that you seek?"

"I need to find the Knower of Names."

"Ah." The wings flapped again, and colours raced across them, fast and dazzling. "To escape this place, and return to your own world?"

"Yes," Jaiyan said, from between gritted teeth. "I really, really want to get out of here."

"And go where?" the Knower of Places asked.

"Home." Jaiyan shivered beneath her cape, and looked the Knower straight in the eye. "What is it like?"

The butterfly woman laughed. "Being here?"

"Yes."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I saw you, in a vision. You…you know so much. And the weight of that is so terrible." She drew in a slow breath. "How do you cope with it?"

"I just _do_," the winged creature answered. A thread of sadness crept into her voice. "Sometimes…we must do what we must do."

Watching, Valen wondered what appalling knowledge lay on her mind, and why it compelled her to stay here, amid this room of moving doors. _But then, when we are trapped, how else do we survive?_ But _was_ she trapped, and why else would she be in this chamber, if she was not?

_For the knowledge itself, _he thought. _Despite its treacheries, and its secrets. If men can will themselves through study of the arcane past undeath, and all for the sake of knowledge, then why not this?_

"The Knower of Places," the woman breathed. "Her…I know her dreams, and her thoughts."

"Do you know where she _is?_" Jaiyan asked.

"Of course." The wings fluttered again. "The door behind me, to the left…this will take you to her, and to the answers that you seek." The woman's black, deep eyes swiveled and fixed on Valen. "You travel with a tiefling. A tiefling with demon's blood…and in Cania, too. You are brave."

"Really?" Jaiyan grinned. "I like him around because he's a good windbreak."

The butterfly woman gazed at her, uncertain suddenly. "But he…"

"I love him," Jaiyan said firmly. "That's all there is to it."

"Very well. That door, traveler." She turned, indicated the mentioned door.

White and hanging against the darkness, and looking so very much like carved bone. Jaiyan reached out, clasped Valen's hand again. "Ready?"

_No, not really. _"Yes," he said, unsteadily. "Together?"

She nodded. Deekin grabbed her other hand and muttered something about not leaving talented kobold bards behind. "Together," she said.

Letting her lead, Valen stepped past the Knower of Places, and under the white lintel. The air shrieked past his ears, and blackness rose up and engulfed him. He gripped her hand harder, and prayed he would not lose her.

Light flared against the inside of his eyelids, and the cold bit into him. He stumbled over something soft, and found himself on his knees in snow. He opened his eyes in time to see Jaiyan beside him, trying to haul him upright, while the kobold bounced excitedly.

"We be much further in, Boss." As if this was somehow _good_, Deekin nodded emphatically. "Knower of Names not be much further, Deekin thinks."

Valen stared at the snow, and the lines of ice cliffs very far away, and considered that _very far in_ looked much the same as _ just left the city with the ghosts_.

"Valen?"

Her hand tightened on his, and he looked down in her blue eyes. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

He hated that she had to keep asking that. Some half-buried part of him wanted to snap, _Since my eyes aren't red – I don't think – and I'm not trying to kill you, what do you think?_

Yet she was a mortal girl from the north, and had never before met a tiefling; why should she know what to do in the face of the drums of the Blood Wars?

"I'm fine," he growled. "Why wouldn't I be?" Her face fell, and guilt lanced into him again. "I'm sorry….oh, Gods. Beloved, I…I just want to be out of this."

"I know," she said, quietly. "Valen?"

"Yes, my love?"

He adored the way her eyes lit when he said that; as if the snow was not everywhere, as if the cold did not hem in from all sides.

"When we get back…you won't leave me, will you?"

"Oh, my love. Do you think I would?" He folded his arms around her, and felt her breathing against his neck.

"No," she murmured. "But I wanted to check."

He laughed then, despite himself, and the snow, and the low, dangerous thrum in his blood. He kissed her, and shivered as her arms wrapped around him, and her body cleaved against his. Snowflakes tumbled past his face, and he barely felt them, or the wind, or the bone-deep cold of the place the butterfly woman had sent them to.


	47. Chapter 47

_Disclaimer and so forth, and another warning that this chapter is a little longer than usual, though since everything's on its way to the end, I think they're more like to be around this length or so. _

_**Chapter Forty-Seven – Snare**_

Imloth leaned back against the wall. The sky above was thick with dark cloud, the street in front of him littered with the dead. Blood shimmered in wide patches across the cobbles. For uncounted, brutal hours, his drow had pushed back the attackers, while Durnan's roof-top archers sent volley after volley down on them. And now, in the uncertain aftermath, his scouts patrolled the ends of the streets, while another two had slunk out into the darkness.

He had seen the arch-devil. A great crimson shape against the black sky above, eyes flaring with hate and amusement in horribly equal measure.

_Poised for an instant, staring down the street at the tavern, the arch-devil smiled and turned away. _

Which had left Imloth gazing after it, both confused and relieved. Slowly, he lowered his sword and wondered why it would choose to walk away. He could not shake the awful, prickling feeling that they were being toyed with.

"Imloth? Drink this."

A waterskin was pressed into his hand, and he realized his throat was sand-dry. He nodded across to Nathyrra and murmured quiet thanks. The water was warm, and somehow bitter, but he did not care. He handed the waterskin back, and raked loose hair out of his face with trembling fingers. He was exhausted again, and remembered that he had not eaten, back at the tavern.

_There'll be time for eating later_, he thought firmly. _When all of this is over. _

_Whenever that will be. _

_If that will be._

"Imloth?" Nathyrra again, gazing at him through perturbed red eyes. "You look…glazed."

He flinched. "I'm sorry. I was…daydreaming."

"Oh, yes?" Her lips twitched up into a smile. "You've been doing that a lot, I'm noticing."

"Oh, really?"

"Mmm. Especially around the Seer." She grinned at his obvious discomfort and rested her weight against the wall beside him.

"Nathyrra, this isn't the time…"

"Oh, did you have somewhere else to be?"

He sighed. "How many did we lose?"

"Twelve," she answered, softly. "What are you thinking?"

He squared his shoulders. "I'm thinking we leave a group here, on guard, and take everyone else."

Nathyrra frowned. "Where?"

"I'm tired of never holding them off on our ground, under our own terms. This is not the battlefield I would have chosen."

"Imloth, this is a surfacer city. We don't know it at all."

"I know. I still wonder…" He sighed again, and winced as his armour peeled away from the sweat-sticky shirt beneath. "What's it waiting for? It could have killed us all and burned down the inn."

"It's playing with us."

"Yes, but I want to know why." Imloth shook his head, frustrated. "I'm tired of getting hemmed in in this alleyway."

"We'll be slaughtered," Nathyrra said carefully.

"Probably."

She gave him another sidelong look. "How many would you take?"

"Fifteen."

She nodded. "I'll come with you."

"Nathyrra…"

"I am coming with you." She crooked a white eyebrow at him. "And don't you dare argue with me, male."

He smiled weakly. "Whatever you wish. Nathyrra?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever…" He drew down a deep breath. His head ached, and his fingers cramped around his sword hilt. "Did you ever wonder what would happen after the Valsharess was killed?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "I think I thought Lith My'athar was some kind of haven. Something that would never change."

He nodded slowly, understanding. "Yes…I concentrated so much on training soldiers that I never really considered what would actually happen if the Valsharess was dead. Or if I did, I think I believed we'd all just stay in Lith My'athar. But now the Valsharess is dead, but…"

"…but not in the way you imagined." Nathyrra sighed. "I know."

"Yes. Not in the way I imagined at all." He stared blankly at the blood on the cobbles.

He remembered the day – _how long ago, now?_ – when the Seer had called him and Valen to her chambers. And, in a hushed, eager voice, had told them of the dreams that had touched her.

Dreams, she said, that were gifts of Eilistraee.

_Dreams of a saviour, a hero who would save them all and kill the Valsharess. _

_He had asked who this messiah might be, and the Seer smiled. _

_"A young woman," she said. "From the surface."_

_Valen laughed, without much humour. "A surfacer girl? What is she, some great warrior? A sorceress, maybe?"_

_"No," the Seer murmured. "But she will save us all, and the Valsharess will fall beneath her." _

_Valen grunted. "You're certain of this."_

_"Yes," she answered, steel wrapped in silk. "She comes from the world above, and her name is Jaiyan."_

Valen had snorted and stalked away, Imloth recalled. After agreeing to accompany their saviour on her quest, if she asked, the tiefling had refused to speak of the Seer's visions, or the imminent arrival of the girl from the surface.

Imloth smiled, and wondered if the Seer had known exactly how the tiefling's opinion of their prophesied saviour would change.

_But she didn't know Valen would die, or that Jaiyan would not survive the encounter with the Valsharess and her summoned arch-devil. She didn't know we would flee up to the surface. _

Imloth felt immediately guilty, shook his head, and pushed the thoughts from his mind. "Nathyrra, send someone back inside for more arrows. Give them a few more moments to breathe, and then choose our lucky fifteen."

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In the Yawning Portal, finally sleeping, the Seer dreamed. She was curled beneath blankets that smelled of warmth and armour polish and Imloth. Strange images flickered across the inside of her eyelids, full of snow and cold and howling wind.

_Snowflakes whirled across high, iced-over ridges. Tracks dragged through deep drifts, and the sky was thick with angry clouds. The air here was bitter, and every sharp gust would bite deep into a traveler's lungs. _

_Half-hidden among the snow-covered folds of the ravine, soft light spilled from a small alcove. Barely more than a scooped-out hollow, and hedged by ice on all sides, the tiny cave was lit and warm. Strange-scented smoke twined up from a crackling fire that seemed to be all twigs, and the red spots of melting berries. _

_And, sitting with his back against the wall, was Valen. _

_Even lost in dream, the Seer's mind protested. She had seen him die, seen him choke out his last breaths while blood ran from his lips. _

_Yet here he sat, whole and uninjured, his fierce blue eyes fixed on the tumbling snowflakes. His scarlet hair was loose and fringed steep cheekbones and the slant of his chin. Cradled in his arms was Jaiyan, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder, and her small frame pressed against him. _

_She had lost weight, the Seer noticed. And even in sleep, her eyes appeared shadowed with fatigue, the cheeks beneath more hollow than she remembered.  
_

_Another glance around the cave showed her the kobold, curled up and asleep while the tiefling stood watch. _

_Valen's hands moved over Jaiyan's back, long, sweeping strokes. She stirred against him, and he murmured something. Her head lifted, and the Seer saw a tender, sleepy smile curve her lips. The tiefling leaned down, kissed her softly. More words fluttered between them, and Jaiyan laughed as he covered her face and throat with more teasing kisses. She twisted round on his lap and wound her legs around his waist. Valen cupped her face and whispered something that made her grin. _

_Dream or not, this was becoming intrusive, and the Seer tried to will herself away from the enraptured lovers. _

_Snow whirled up before her eyes, and she found herself peering down on an expanse of wind-torn whiteness. Something terrible had happened here, she realized. Something very long ago. Something that had to do with the gleaming ice cliffs rising from the snow, not far away. _

_But what..? _

_Before she could focus on the trailing end of her thoughts, the dream upended and changed. No snow this time, nor screaming wind. _

_Rain instead, falling in heavy torrents. Huge drops splattering down onto cobbles and scorched wood. Arrows clanging off stone walls, or embedding in flesh and leather. There were terrible creatures here, marching through the rain, their eyes like flame. Drow soldiers, running, slipping on wet stone, shouting orders. _

_The images came fast and confusing, jagged revelations against darkness. A sword juddered against the ground, the elegant scrollwork on the hilt recognizable. _

_Imloth's sword, she realized. _

_The rain pounded harder, the darkness above and around engulfing and suffocating. A helpless, terrible scream, somewhere close by. The horrible, tearing sound of someone wetly coughing. _

_Imloth, blood streaming from his hands. _

The Seer jerked awake. Her heart galloped, and the inside of her mouth tasted vaguely coppery. _Were those dreams? Visions? The product of an overly tired and troubled mind? _

"Eilistraee," she whispered. "I no longer know what to do."

In Lith My'athar, the visions had always been obvious; the clarity of them stark and powerful and burned into her thoughts. But now, her dreams were clouded, and seemed distant, and she could no longer tell the difference.

_If there even was a difference any more. _

She pushed the sheets aside, found her robe, slung over the back of the chair. She dressed quickly, raking her fingers through her hair, and knotting fraying ties. Downstairs, she found the innkeeper with the sentries at the door. His face was grey with tiredness, but he lifted one grizzled eyebrow at her as she approached.

"Aren't you meant to be sleeping?"

"I was." She paused. "Did Imloth come back?"

Durnan yawned into the back of his hand. "No. Your boy took off with about a dozen of his lot."

"He…did what?"

"Took off. Into the city. Sent a runner in to say they were fed up getting cornered in the alleyway." The innkeeper shrugged. "Said they'd be back by dawn."

"Dawn," she repeated.

Durnan must have seen the sudden, helpless look in her eyes. "Look," he said, kinder. "Take yourself off back to sleep, and I'll send him your way when he gets back."

"When he gets back…" _Eilistraee, were those dreams or visions? Is Valen alive or dead? Where is Imloth?_ _No…no use to panic now. You have waited out worse times before. _

"Yes," she said, steadier. "Yes. Let me know when he gets back."

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Imloth crouched beside a toppled beam. Sweat stung his eyes, and his ankle throbbed from when he had dived away from a devil's charging attack and crashed over a stone slab. Nearby, Nathyrra watched the empty street, her poise that of a cat about to strike.

Through twisting alleyways and across plazas littered with debris and the dead, they had crept. Eight snarling, tall devils had been brought to their knees, along with a host of undead.

_And of their fifteen-strong party, seven still breathed. _

Imloth circled his fingers wearily against his temples. _A life for a life hardly seems fair. We'll run out a lot quicker. _

He straightened up, nodded to Nathyrra. "We should head back." He turned to the other five drow, all coiled and terse, and staring out into the darkness. About to call the order to move, he saw light flare across the street, through the gaping doors of what might have been a temple. "Move," he hissed. "Quickly. Now."

He led them back into the shadows, past tumbled heaps of timber, and around an upturned wagon. Torchlight flickered across the cobbles behind them, and he heard feet, and weapons jangling. As they had been trained, his drow melted into the darkness, pressed themselves against bits of broken wall or behind dropped crates.

Imloth crouched beside the curved remains of a barrel and watched as shadows darted across the spill of torchlight. His heart lurched behind his ribs as two broad-shouldered devils marched into the street, followed by Mephistopheles himself.

_What's he doing tonight? Surveying the ruins of his new kingdom?_

_And here are we, seven of us, and him over there, not even a spear's throw away. _

"Drow," the arch-devil said, conversationally. "Drow, in the shadows, watching. And not _my _drow. Why don't you stop lurking and come out?"

Imloth's throat constricted. He glanced across to Nathyrra. "Stay there," he whispered. "Do not move."

Before she could protest, he stepped out into the torchlight. The arch-devil's burning gaze fixed on him, and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Brave drow, too," the creature murmured. "And on the surface, no less. Tell me…why are you here, and not hiding with your craven allies in that tavern?"

_He knows. Of course he knows_. "We're taking a walk."

"Indeed?" Mephistopheles' smile widened. He swept a raking, studying glance over Imloth again. "Ah…I know you, drow. You were at the battle for the Valsharess' fortress. You came to the throne room, and panicked, and fled."

"Your point?"

"That you came but a moment or so too late to see me kill your precious saviour."

"My…how do you know this?" Imloth shook his head. _He can read your thoughts. Your mind is nothing more than a book to him. _

"She did not even scream," the arch-devil added thoughtfully. "Not once, even when the fire took her."

Imloth's hands curled into fists. "Is there something useful you need to say, or should I just attack you now?"

Mephistopheles laughed. "You could try, I suppose. For now, though…let us say…you and your six companions have, oh, I don't know. Time enough for a few deep breaths, and then my followers attack?"

"Hardly a fair head start," Imloth snapped. "Why don't we just stand here with our arms open and shout _shoot now_?"

"If you wish," the arch-devil said.

Two arrows whipped out, and he heard strangled screams behind. Something heavy hit the ground.

"No, wait…" Imloth leaped to one side as another arrow whirred past and thunked into moving flesh. He heard a choked gasp, and Nathyrra swearing as someone else fell.

_What do I do? We'll never make it past him. He'll let us run, then shoot us from behind. _

He slid one hand behind his back, and moved his fingers, signaling. Flicking out a quick order to bolt past the arch-devil, and head for the ruined buildings at the far end of the street.

_If we get there fast enough, we might survive. _

"You think using your drow hand-language will save you?" Mephistopheles grinned, amused. "Why not just run now, and see how far you get?"

_Is that better than to get skewered right now? _Imloth was not sure, but he had little choice. He glanced behind him, saw Nathyrra and his last two soldiers watching, coiled and waiting to bolt.

Imloth sent a brief prayer to Eilistraee, gritted his teeth, and nodded. Then they were running, pelting past the arch-devil, and hearing his laughter following. Weaving and zig-zagging across the blood-spattered cobbles, while behind, he heard bowstrings pull taut again.

A hail of arrows sliced in from behind, and Imloth dropped flat, motioning the others down with him. The black shafts sailed overhead, impacted against walls or sprang off cobbles. He waited a terse instant for any straggling shot, and then he was up and sprinting again, with the others following. Overhead, the clouds roiled, and Imloth flinched as fat, cold drops of rain hit the top of his head. Still running, he glanced up, and winced as another one splashed into his eye. The rain thrummed harder, the ground underfoot turning slippery and treacherous. And, somewhere behind, he knew that the arch-devil's minions nocked arrows, the sound hidden beneath the rain.

Gaping holes in the walls of half-ruined buildings loomed ahead, and Imloth wondered if they might make it. The cobbles beneath his feet no longer felt safe, and he was aware that every step he took slipped a little too far.

Another arrow shot out of the rainy darkness behind, and the drow soldier running beside him fell with a startled cry. Imloth bit his lip and forced himself not to look back. Another shaft snapped past him, close enough that he heard the fletching whirr. A third followed, clipping across Nathyrra's shoulder.

She staggered, and her feet slipped. He reached across, dragged her up against him. Desperately trying not to slow down, he hauled her along. "Keep going," he gasped. "Come on. Keep going."

His hair was wet, and kept sliding in front of his eyes. More arrows sliced out, and the other drow soldier screamed. A quick, rueful look back showed her pinned to the floor through the throat and thigh.

Imloth snarled under his breath and pulled Nathyrra faster. Her feet kicked against the soaked cobbles, and she regained some measure of balance. Still, he did not want to let go of her, not when the arch-devil's servants still had a clear shot down the street. He lurched frantically around an empty crate, slithered through a deep puddle that might have been blood or water or both. With one arm locked around Nathyrra's waist, he dragged her past chunks of blackened stone, and in through the nearest gap in the building.

More arrows ricocheted off the wall behind, and he thought he heard the arch-devil howling with laughter. He waited, listening to the rain pounding outside. "Can you stand?" he murmured.

Nathyrra nodded. "Just a cut."

He slipped to the break in the wall, peered out into falling water and darkness. The sound of the rain upset his hearing, and he felt horribly trapped. Even the silvered lines of it, tumbling from the dark sky above, ruined his vision.

He squinted, and wondered if the arch-devil was still at the other end of the street. He saw something long and narrow and dark, carving through the rain. His mind registered it as an arrow an instant too late. He jumped to one side, and the tip thumped against his sword. Metal shrieked, and the blade was wrenched from his hands.

Heart pounding, Imloth scooped the sword back up, and darted back inside.

"Anything?" Nathyrra asked.

"I can't see," he answered sourly. "The rain is too thick."

With little other choice, the two of them picked their way through rubble and over broken floorboards. Rain sheeted down through gashes in the roof, and Imloth counted four corpses heaped in a corner. On the other side, the ripped-apart doorway led through to a small courtyard. Here, the ground was mud, sodden and uncertain underfoot, and Imloth trod carefully.

Propping each other up, the drow inched their way through the mush and stumbled down stone steps, and in through another broken door.

Light stabbed out of the darkness, and Imloth reached for his sword. He narrowed his eyes, tried to see through the sudden glare. He made out the edges of two tables, and swords, and tall men in uniforms. _Coloured uniforms, with surcoats and mail…guards? _

"Drow!" He heard running footsteps, and someone yanked his sword from his hands. A knife tip pushed against the hollow of his throat.

"One of them's a woman."

He dragged his head up in time to see three of the men wrestle Nathyrra's arms behind her back.

"Wait," Imloth said, pleading. "Please wait…"

The man nearest glared at him. "You speak our language."

"Yes." _Why is it I seem to spend so much of my time being restrained by surfacers? _"We're with Durnan, at The Yawning Portal."

The man laughed. "The innkeeper?"

"Yes." _Keep talking, _Imloth thought desperately. _Give me some time before you gut us_. "We came up to the surface, and he gave us refuge."

"Really? And why would he do that?"

Beside him, Nathyrra raised her head. The look in her crimson eyes was murderous. "Do we look at all like the drow you have fought recently? Are we undead? Are we trying to kill you?"

One of the soldiers holding her snorted. "You're not killing us because we've _got_ you."

Nathyrra drew in a deep breath, and Imloth recognized her expression. _Oh, Gods, she's going to kill them_. "Nathyrra, no!"

She subsided, simmering with anger, while the soldiers laughed. "I thought drow took orders from their women, not the other way around."

"Please," Imloth said again. "Just come with us to The Yawning Portal. There's more soldiers there, and food."

The man frowned. "All of you drow?"

"No. They're mostly human. Durnan's men."

The knife at his throat eased, and he saw the man glance at his companions. They were all filthy, he noticed, their armour splashed with old blood, and their eyes round and wild in pale, thin faces. He wondered what they had endured, how many of their allies they had seen cut down in the city.

"Drop your sword," the man said eventually. "And every single weapon you've got between you. Then we'll see."

_Oh, Gods. The last time a surfacer said that, they nearly broke my cheekbones._ "Durnan's at the tavern, with his wife Mhaere, and his daughter Tamsil," he said. _Please believe me. Please believe me_.

"Alright," the man said, grudgingly. "Shed those weapons, drow."

Warily, Imloth straightened away from the knife-point. He handed his sword and scabbard across first, followed with bow and quiver and dagger. He paused while one of the men stepped in, ran rough hands over his armour.

"Hers next," the man ordered.

Hating the dammed-back anger in Nathyrra's eyes, Imloth carefully loosened her daggers and swordbelt, passed them over.

One of the men smirked. "She got any concealed blades I could go looking for?"

"Touch her in that way," Imloth said quietly, "And I imagine she'll have your eyes out of your head with her bare hands before I can break your neck."

"Derrin," the man nearer Imloth snapped. "Keep your mouth closed."

Derrin flushed and backed down, muttering something about ornery drow.

"Alright," said the man Imloth guessed was their leader. "Take us to Durnan. You first."

"And if we get attacked?" Nathyrra demanded.

"Then you'll have to pull some magical drow trick and vanish, won't you?"

Outside, the rain still hammered down. With the tip of a sword digging against his back, and Nathyrra roughly escorted along beside him, Imloth led them through twisting alleyways. Avoiding wider avenues, and pausing whenever he thought he heard footsteps. It seemed a long, tortuous way of sneaking through territory he knew to be crawling with undead and worse, but the decisive push of the sword at his back meant he had no choice.

_I seem to be having no choice a lot at the moment,_ he thought sourly.

The thundering rain made progress and listening difficult, and Imloth sighed as he motioned for yet another a halt. Not far away, magelight lanced between the snapped boards over a doorway. The spell hissed and died down, and he waited, wondering if the door was about to erupt with undead.

Nothing stirred; nothing broke the silver curtain of the rain.

Imloth edged forward again, silently praying. With the guards following behind, he led past the burned-out shell of large warehouse, around another temple, and finally across a square and down the street to the tavern. Lights gleamed at the windows, and torches flickered along the roof. Behind him, he heard the men nudging each other, and wondering aloud if anyone else they might know was holed up in the tavern.

The man behind him grasped his shoulder, walked him to the door with the sword point still lodged against his spine. "Go on," he said. "Tell them we're here."

_He still thinks I'm bluffing_. Imloth swept sodden hair out of his face and knocked at the door. "It's Imloth," he called through the planks. "Ask Durnan to come up. We've found allies."

A moment, while the rain poured, and Imloth wondered if he had ever before been this wet, outside of a bath, or maybe that fall into a lake.

The door opened, and Durnan glared out. "Imloth? What the hells took you so long? What could possibly be worth wasting time over in this city?"

Watching sidelong, Imloth saw the guard's face collapsed into disbelief. Incredulous, the man lowered his sword. "Durnan?"

The innkeeper looked past the drow, and blinked. "Good gods in the sky. Forlyth Kallen? You're still alive?"

"Aye," the man said. "That and a dozen of mine. Been stuck in a warehouse on the other side of the city."

"Right." Durnan motioned them inside. "Get inside before we all get slaughtered by something unholy."

The guard glanced uneasily at Imloth. "But, the drow..?"

"Yes, they're my drow," Durnan snapped. "What's your point?"

In the corridor, the air was warm and smelled of roasting meat. Durnan ordered the new arrivals into the armoury to drop off weapons, and then on to the kitchen for food and blankets. Nathyrra stalked away, while Imloth dripped onto the carpet.

"What?" Durnan asked. "That's a very disturbing smile you've got, lad."

"We're _your_ drow, are we?" He grinned. "I think you may have just saved my skin again."

Durnan shrugged. "You got yourselves back here still breathing. How did you manage it?"

"I told them I knew you, and I was stupid enough to give up my weapons. I thought they might be desperate enough to almost believe me. Or least to give getting here a try."

"Guess you were right." Durnan studied him sharply. "Where's the other thirteen of you?"

"Dead."

The innkeeper sighed. "Once you've dried yourself off, you can tell me about it. Lad?"

"Yes?"

"You did well. Bringing them back here." Durnan shrugged awkwardly. "I know they were probably bastards to you, but…"

"I know." Imloth shifted, felt his shirt peel away from his soaked leathers. Water droplets ran off his hair and his chin, and he wondered if he would ever be dry again. He took a step, and swayed. "Oh…that's not very good."

"Comes of not eating and charging around too much," Durnan remarked. "Go fetch yourself some food. You're officially off-duty for the next day or so."

Imloth smiled wearily. Some part of him cynically considered the likelihood of the inn even _existing_ in the next day or so to be a wild hope. He made his way through the infirmary, and realized that his head was spinning, and every footstep felt too heavy. He rubbed his knuckles across his eyes, and flinched when something small and warm and soft attached itself to his chest and hugged him.

He opened his eyes, and stared down at the top of the Seer's head. "Ah…Seer? I'm soaking wet."

Her gaze lifted, deep and searching. "I was dreaming. I dreamed of your sword, falling, and you in the rain."

Chills chased up and down his spine. "Yes…"

"I dreamed of blood. Are you hurt?"

"No." His arm and side were patched crimson, but the blood was not his. "No, I'm not. Nathyrra was injured, but not badly. The blood is hers."

The Seer sagged against him, and he slipped his arms around her waist. "I dreamed of…other things, as well." She studied him, took in his sodden armour and trembling frame. "You're exhausted. Come, eat and then sleep, and then we can talk."

He wanted to stay with his arms around her, and her slim shape tight against him. But his eyes were sandy with fatigue, and he could feel his hands shaking. She was right; they could speak later. But, just for a moment, he wondered what he might have given to simply stand there and hold her, and inhale the faint scent of soap that clung to her hair.


	48. Chapter 48

_**Chapter Forty-Eight – The Knower of Names**_

Jaiyan stumbled over a half-hidden rock and swore. Snow swamped her boots, and she shuddered. She grabbed Valen's elbow, levered herself up again. "Why the hells couldn't the nice butterfly woman just teleport us a _little_ closer?"

The tiefling shrugged. "Maybe to test our resolve?"

"Well, at this rate, if there is any refusal to co-operate, the Knower of Names is going to meet my resolve right on the end of my sword." She brushed loose snow from her cape and sighed. "Sorry. Getting tired of this."

"I know." Valen steadied her in the snow, took a moment to glance ahead.

To where the plain slid up, towards high ice cliffs, lit fiercely under the pale sun. No snow fell today, but the air was bitter, each breath slicing into laboured lungs. Jaiyan followed his gaze, saw the tightening of the skin around his eyes. "Valen? What is it?"

He took another few steps, his tail twitching wildly. "There's…beloved, there's fighting up there."

She swallowed. The Sleeping Man's ring hung against her chest, a heavy, cold reminder. She could hear nothing, despite the stillness in the air, but she knew his hearing was far sharper than hers. "And that's right where we need to go."

Valen drew in a shuddering breath. "I need you to do something."

"If it involves running away, forget it."

He shook his head. "I'm serious. I want you to stay down here."

"What?" She stared at him. "No. You don't know how many are up there, or what they're doing, or anything. So, _no_, I won't be waiting down here."

Beside her, Deekin tugged at her cape. "Boss, Deekin thinks Goat-man have sensible idea…"

Valen growled. She could see his whole frame quivering with the tension of staying, of not bolting up the rise, and into whatever carnage lay beyond. "Stay down here, Jaiyan. I _mean_ it."

She opened her mouth to argue, and saw his eyes flicker. "Oh, hells. Valen?"

A tremor unreeled through him. He grasped her shoulders, hard enough to hurt, and shoved her away from him. "Stay _here_."

He turned away, unslung his flail in the same motion, and vaulted up towards the crest of the rise. Long strides taking him through soft snow, while his tail lashed behind him, and the set of his face promised only violence.

Jaiyan staggered back up to her feet, and disgustedly shook more snow out of her sleeves. "Irritating tiefling."

She saw him vanish over the hill, and wondered what he had found. _Does he really think I'm going to stand here and let him disappear into the wide white yonder like that?_

Deekin grasped her wrist. "Boss, Deekin thinks it be _really_ good idea to stay here."

"Deekin…"

"Boss, remember last time?"

Of course she did. The terrible, wrenching fear of stirring to the sounds of Valen locked in a nightmare, only to have him wake and attack her, _again_, still troubled her. _Especially_ _at night_, she thought, _when you can't tell if he what he's dreaming, and what he's going to wake up as. _

"It's not his fault, though," she mumbled.

"Deekin knows that. But Deekin also knows that Goat-man be much, _much_ bigger than Boss."

She shook her head, frustrated. "I know that. Alright, look. We won't go see properly, we'll just…how about getting close enough to hear?"

"_Boss_," Deekin said, disapproving.

"I can't stand here," she snapped. "I can't stand here not knowing anything."

Deekin nodded. "Alright, Boss. But not all the way up the hill, yes?"

"Agreed." She padded up the gentle slope until she heard the noise of battle, metal slicing against metal, and heavy shapes thudding against the ground. Running footsteps, pounding against the deep snow, and screams, and the horribly familiar sound of Valen shouting as he killed.

Jaiyan crouched down in the snow and shivered. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Deekin huddled up next to her, and wrapped his hand around hers. "Goat-man be good fighter."

Something big roared, and the whirr and thump of unleashed spells sent tremors through the ground beneath them. More screaming, and the crashing sound of large creatures smashing into each other.

_All the lovely sounds of carnage,_ Jaiyan thought grimly. "Oh, gods. Deekin…talk to me."

"Boss?"

"Talk to me. About something. Anything."

"Oh…" The little kobold stared down at his tiny hand, locked with hers. "Deekin really glad Boss took him along. Even to Cania."

She laughed uncertainly. "Really?"

"Really. And Deekin think Deekin's next book be even better."

A fireball roared past near the crest, and the explosion painted bright light across the snow. "Oh? And why might that be?"

"Well, in this one, the noble heroes become noble planewalkers. And defeat a dracolich. And survive a siege." He grinned. "And brave heroine gets to find true love."

"She what?" Jaiyan smirked. "You're so sentimental, you know that?"

Deekin shrugged. "Well?"

She blushed.

"See, Boss? Deekin always right."

Something sharp sheared through metal, and the screams became louder. "Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Think he's alright?"

"Goat-man be fine, Boss."

She stared at the snow, and listened to the shrieks and the shouts and the noise of metal tearing through flesh. _How many of them are there up there? _

Snowflakes drifted through the air in front of her face. She held out a hand, caught one, watched as it hovered for an instant before melting on her glove. _Even if he's alright, what kind of state will he be in? We're too deep, too far from anywhere. _

"Deekin, we need to get out of here."

"Yes, Boss."

"Before we starve, freeze, go mad, or Valen just kills us."

Deekin shot her a worried look. "Boss? Is Boss alright?"

She smiled. "Sorry. Just maudlin."

_But what truly was more frightening than not knowing whether the man she loved would know her or not? _

_Would try and hurt her or not? _

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"It be very quiet."

She shivered again. More snowflakes fell, twirling past her face. "He'll need a few moments to collect himself."

_There you go again_, she thought viciously. _Assuming he's alright. _

_He'd better be alright. _

"I'll kill him if he's not," she muttered aloud.

She waited as long as the twisting knot of tension in her stomach let her. Finally unable to bear the silence and the softly-falling snow, she pushed upright. A few floundering steps took her to the top of the rise, with Deekin slogging along beside her. The little kobold still gripped her hand, and she was secretly glad.

She stared down the other side, and swallowed.

The snow was crimson. Dead devils lay with torn faces fixed on the sky above. Snowflakes drifted down onto ugly, gaping wounds. There were demons here, as well, balors among them, their wings broken and their necks snapped. The smell of spilled blood and torn flesh was thick on the air, and Jaiyan almost gagged.

She looked past two toppled vrocks and saw Valen.

He was on his knees, his flail was dropped in the snow beside him, and blood streaked one side of his face. Another deep cut welled on his thigh, and a slice on his scalp had leaked into his hair, plastering it. He was breathing hard and ragged, his fingers twisting and locking against themselves.

Jaiyan paused, and hated herself for drawing her sword first. "Valen?"

His head turned, and he stared bewildered at her, through eyes that were a clear and piercing blue. Tears glittered on his cheeks. "Jaiyan? Oh, gods, beloved. I couldn't find you…I thought…"

She reached him before he made it to his feet, and flung herself against his chest. "You thought what?"

He was trembling all over. "I thought maybe I'd hurt you. I couldn't find you…"

"_You_ told me to stay back there," she said archly. "_You_ decided to be the sensible one."

"Oh." He shook his head dazedly. He cupped her chin, explored her face with shaking fingers. "I thought…never mind. You're not hurt?"

"No," she said. "Are you?"

He shifted and winced. "Scrapes and bruises."

She clicked her tongue at him. "You're bleeding all over the snow." She pressed a healing potion into his hands. "_Are _you alright?"

He drained the bottle. "I remember coming up the hill, and I remember fighting them. I remember killing…a lot of them. I don't…I didn't remember you, or where I'd left you, or whether I'd…" His voice cracked. "My love, I thought I'd…"

"Sshh. I know." She kissed his cheek, then his mouth. "I know. You didn't. I'm alright. _We're_ alright."

He held her for a long, wondering moment. "There's…a lot of blood. Can we…can we move on?"

"Of course." She slipped out of his arms, helped him to his feet. They found his flail, the twins heads splotched with gore. She led him past the red slush of the snow, and noticed how his whole body went taut as they stepped around the fallen bulk of a dead devil. She tightened her hands around his, and chivvied him on quicker. "Valen? Valen, look at me."

His gaze skittered up from the snow, fixed on her face. "I can see you."

"Good. Keep going."

She walked him away from the battlefield and the heavy stench of opened flesh, and up towards the gleaming ice cliffs. Here, the snow was white and pristine, untouched beneath the curve of the grey sky above. Thick flakes spun from the clouds, and the air was brittle and cold, and clean.

Valen tipped his head back and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "My love?"

"I'm here."

"Thank you," he murmured.

Keeping one hand on his wrist, she fumbled with the Sleeping Man's ring. Purple light flared up from the snow, and she winced. No astral gates this time, rising from the whiteness; no bizarre signs fluttering above the ground.

Only a pale violet corona, hovering about a lump of ice that _she was sure_ had not been in front of the cliffs an instant before.

She tugged the ring off, and the ice shape remained. "That wasn't there before…right?"

"Right, Boss."

Closer inspection showed the ice to be a cocoon, shrouding over the shape of a pale-skinned woman within. Jaiyan reached out, touched the smooth ice. "Is this normal for Cania, or are we just lucky to have seen this twice?"

Valen chuckled. "You think this is the Knower of Names?"

"Unless she's some other poor lady trapped in the ice leagues from anywhere." Jaiyan stared at the woman's closed eyes. "Alright. Let's thaw her out."

But the heat from the velox vines did nothing except warm Jaiyan's hands and melt the ice rimed in her hair. The woman stayed trapped, her serene face unmoving and her hands clasped beneath the mantle of ice. Deekin invoking and holding fire spells inches from her had the same effect; none whatsoever. Light spells only made the ice shell blaze, and the cracking weight of a cold spell only rebounded loudly.

Jaiyan scowled. "_Now_ what do we do?" She glared at the woman. "You know, I feel like just hammering at it until it breaks."

Valen crooked a red eyebrow. "That might work."

"And it might bludgeon her to death, thereby rendering us lost and about to die, _again_, in the Hells."

Another round of fire spells yielded the same result. Desperate enough to burn the last of the vines and the berries, Jaiyan watched as the flames petered out, and the ice remained tauntingly smooth. She tried upending a flask of velox potion on top of the ice shell, to absolutely no avail either.

"Alright." She shook herself. _If I do this with my sword, I might kill her. I do this with my hands, I'll probably break my fingers. Oh, choices._

She lifted her sword, spun it around, and brought the hilt down against the ice, at a point she hoped was far enough from the woman's face. The pommel juddered away, and her hand stung. She swore, raised the sword, and tried again. This time, the hilt slammed down at a sharper angle, and faint cracks traveled through the ice. Another tentative blow, and the cracks spread wider and further.

She sheathed the sword, set to with her hands instead. Digging her fingers under the broken edges of the ice, while Valen helped her. The ice shards sliced through her gloves, into the skin beneath. Bit by agonizing bit, the two of them tore away the ice shell. She wrenched away the last piece, realized her hands were bleeding, and tried to ignore it.

The woman stood amid the shattered ice. Blood twined between the shards at her feet. Her mouth opened silently, and she began to breathe.

No colour flooded her cheeks; instead, she looked all the more waxen, even as her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes opened, deep and dark and terribly sad. "Is it…over?"

Her voice was hushed, a whisper fraught with pain. Jaiyan lowered her sword, and answered gently, "Is what over?"

The woman shuddered. "You are…you are not with him. No?"

"No," Jaiyan said. "I am here because I think you are the Knower of Names. Am I right?"

The woman nodded slowly. Her hands lifted, brushed back loose pale hair. "You have come to ask me questions."

"Yes."

Another quick, trembling breath. "It has been so long, since anyone asked me these things."

"There are names I need to know. True Names."

"Ah. Of course." The woman smiled wanly. "Because I know these things, I must tell you, and you will ask, until I say."

Jaiyan frowned. "Look," she said, a little sharper. "I understand being bludgeoned out of sleep is not going to be much fun for anyone. But I need a name, and I need it right now, and I'm perfectly happy to turn the negotiation over to my sword, if you want."

The woman's smile widened. "So impassioned, traveler. And what name must you have?"

"The name of the Reaper," she grated. "The Reaper who waits near Cania. The Reaper who was once commanded by Mephistopheles."

The woman shuddered. "Mephistopheles?"

"You know him?"

"I…knew him, once." The woman's dark eyes lifted, wide and sorrowful. "He and I, we…"

And suddenly Jaiyan knew that she had seen this woman before, in visions beside the Sleeping Man, while Sensei Dharvana watched. "I think I know what you mean."

The woman reached out, clasped her hand. "Let me show you."

_A man and a woman, twined together on soft sheets. He was handsome and dark-haired, and whispered tender words as he made love to her. She arched up beneath him, smiling as he murmured her name. _

_But afterwards, there was treachery, and love thrown away, and feelings cast aside. A terrible price demanded for the trust she had given up to him. _

"What did he need?" Jaiyan asked carefully. "Why did he...?"

"Seduce me?" The woman shrugged. "I _know_ names. True Names of all those who breathe and live, on all the planes. He needed to know which of his generals were loyal, and those who were not. I was foolish, and thought that he loved me, and so I told him whatever he asked. And so he left me, and made known his power over his minions and this place."

"And you?"

"Me? He left me here, imprisoned in the ice." Her smile turned bitter. "He felt I knew too much. If I know all True Names, then of course I know his. Why might you need to know the Reaper's True Name?"

_Here we go,_ Jaiyan thought tersely. "Because Mephistopheles walks the surface world. He was summoned into the Underdark by a Matron Mother who thought herself powerful enough to contain him."

"Ah. But she was not, and now he is free. But why are _you_ here?"

Jaiyan explained, told the Knower of Names how she had found the Relic among the shadows, and how she had never lost it. How it had been a piece of Mephistopheles' flesh, and how he had used it to fuse himself to the surface world, and send her to Cania in his place.

"Then you seek to leave Cania, and return." The woman stepped forward, across the broken shards of ice. She reached out, and her cold fingers touched Jaiyan's cheek. "Do you wish to know your True Name?"

"Oh. I, ah…not really," Jaiyan muttered. _Does it matter? Well, no. But then, why are you worried?_

"You are Kagita'ar the Heartseeker." The woman smiled. "The Light of Cania."

"I'm…who?" Jaiyan scowled. "That's a ridiculous name."

"Is it? It is you, bone and blood and soul, written in the dust of stars."

Jaiyan shifted uncomfortably. Something cold jumped down the length of her spine, and her skin felt prickly and itchy. "Very nice, then."

"What else do you wish to know?" The woman's smile was floating in front of her, and the wind seemed to pluck at her. "The Name of your True Love, perhaps?"

"What? No," Jaiyan protested. "I don't want…" _What are you afraid of?_

"He is Oeskathine the Demon-wrestler," the woman told her softly.

"Never heard of him," Jaiyan snapped. She was very aware of the tiefling beside her, his eyes on her. "Who is he, then?"

"You know him as Valen Shadowbreath," the woman laughed. "Who else might you like to know?"

"That will do," Jaiyan said firmly. Her face was scarlet, and she noticed Valen grinning. "And _you_ can stop laughing at me, tiefling."

"Me?" He spread his arms wide. "Beloved, your face was…a picture."

"Of what? No, don't answer." She looked back to the woman. "How about Mephistopheles?"

"Ah." The woman shook her head. "No. I will not. Light of Cania or not, I will not speak that name."

Jaiyan stared at her disbelievingly. "He treated you terribly! He made you think…he made you think he loved you! That he would give anything for your love in return. _Why_ can't you tell me? If I have his name, I can send him back here, or anywhere, or…"

"No," the woman said. "I cannot. He…I know what he is. But I cannot let you have that power over him."

"But you will give me the Reaper's name."

"Yes."

"So you'll let me find him and fight him, and possibly win, but you won't tell me his True Name."

"No."

Jaiyan rubbed her hand across her forehead. "Do you know what he's _doing_ up there right now? I imagine he's burning and killing and generally destroying everything he lays eye on. That's what devils do, right? And you _won't_ tell me his Name?"

"No," the Knower repeated. "I will not. I cannot."

"He'll kill me," Jaiyan said, and heard her voice waver. "Gods above, you _know_ he will. He's a damn arch-devil. And I have to fight him. What do you _think_ will happen?"

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "But…I cannot. In my place, could you? Could you give your tiefling's True Name to his enemy?"

She felt Valen's arm wind around her waist, and leaned back against the solid wall of his chest. "No," she said, unsteadily. "But then again, he never talked me into bed for the sole reason of finding out what I knew so he could kill his opponents."

The Knower flinched. "I cannot," she said again. "I'm sorry."

_Yes, I just bet you are._ "Very well," Jaiyan said wearily. "I don't suppose threatening you would help?"

"No," the Knower murmured.

"Not after being trapped in ice for so long. I get it. I still think you're being beyond stupid." She sighed. She wondered if she should try the good old intimidation tactic; after all, she would be backed up by a tall, infernal-blooded tiefling. But there was something so hopelessly sad in the Knower's eyes, some awful acceptance of her betrayal that made Jaiyan's heart twist. Looking at her, Jaiyan wondered if it would even be _possible_to kill the woman - and if she could not be killed, then no amount of pain a mere mortal traveller could give her would equal what Mephistopheles had done to her. "Alright. Tell me the Reaper's Name, then."

The woman leaned forward, whispered something into Jaiyan's ear. "I'm sorry," the Knower added. "About Mephistopheles. Perhaps you can understand…"

"In a way. If it wasn't me about to go and confront him. If I was reading it in a book, or hearing it in a ballad." Jaiyan smirked tiredly. "So, in a way."

The Knower of Names looked at her through dark, wide eyes. "Forgive me. And forgive him, if you can."

"Yes, to the first. Absolutely, no way, not in a thousand years to the second." Jaiyan tore her gaze away from the woman's face. _Stop looking at me like that,_ she thought desperately. _Stop looking _through_ me like that. _

"Had you not touched the Relic…" the woman said.

"Then a lot of other things wouldn't have happened." _I might not even have gone back to Waterdeep. I might not have gone down to Lith My'athar. I wouldn't have been cursed by Halaster. I wouldn't have met Valen. _"I think it's past time for discussions in hindsight, don't you?"

Something flickered in the woman's mirror-still eyes, some hint at terrible, tearing sorrow born of betrayal. "Indeed. Do you wish to return now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Back to the city, and then back to the Reaper." The Knower smiled thinly. "Unless you prefer to walk?"

"What? No, no, no. Not at all." She studied the Knower, looked at her clasped white hands and knotted pale hair. "And what will you do after we've gone?"

"I am sure your battle with Mephistopheles will resound through the planes," the woman remarked. "So…we shall see which of you emerges the victor."

"Like there's any likelihood it'll be us." Jaiyan shrugged. "What if we do, though? What will you do?" _There will be nothing chaining you here, no old promises of love thrown aside, or hope that it might be rekindled. _

"I don't know," the woman said, and bare, wrenching honesty smoked through her words. "I do not know."

She raised her hands, and magic sparked between her tapered fingers. She bothered with neither a warning nor a farewell. With barely a whisper, the spell rose and engulfed them, and Jaiyan snapped her eyes closed as the ground tilted and dropped away into rushing darkness. A horrible, jarring instant of transition, and she stumbled as her feet hit soft snow and slid.

She cracked her eyes open in time to see white ramparts stretching on all sides. The clanking, hammering sound of the ice quarry in full swing reached her ears. She straightened up as Valen and Deekin dropped out of the air beside her. She turned, ignored the throbbing ache in her cut hands, and launched herself into the tiefling's arms.

He staggered back, laughing as she landed against his chest and locked her legs around his hips. "What's this for?"

"We're back," she said excitedly. "We're back and it stupidly feels like we're almost home. I _know_ we're not, but you're not allowed to be at all dismal."

"Anything my lady commands." He ducked his head, kissed her.

She used his horns to pull herself higher on him, giggling as his tail wrapped around her waist.

"Boss? Could Boss get down off the tiefling now? Only…ghosts are staring…"

Vaguely embarrassed, she dropped back down onto the snow. "Oh…sorry."

Deekin shrugged. "Deekin not mind. Deekin used to Boss."

"What does _that_ mean?" Jaiyan shook her head. "Alright. Do we have everything?"

"Yep," the kobold answered. "Well, gots little bit of food."

"Healing potions?"

"Yep. Plenty."

"Good." _And we're going to need them_. _No. Don't think about that. Not yet_. She squared her shoulders. Some part of her wanted to nothing but amble in the direction of the tavern, sit Valen down, and tell him that her feelings had not changed, not in the slightest, despite Cania, and that he was very much stuck with her.

_There will be time for that later,_ she thought. _If we survive…_

"My love?" Valen's fingers brushed down her cheek, turned her head. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." She summoned a bright smile. "Let's go say hello to the Reaper."


	49. Chapter 49

_Disclaimer still applies, and a really big thank-you to everyone who's following this much-more-unwieldy-than-planned story. We're nearly there, I promise! _

_**Chapter Forty-Nine - Safe**_

The sun rose over The Yawning Portal. Soft light touched the edges of the roof, and the sentries' poised bows, and sliced in through the small gaps in the boards over an upstairs window. In the midst of wringing his hair dry, Imloth paused and stared at the lines of sunlight floating above the rug.

He had slept uneasily, and woken to shouting outside. After Mhaere's reassurance that it was merely tired men seeing shadows moving, he had dragged himself into a bath and soaked the bone-deep aches from his muscles. Now, wearing a tunic and leggings and wondering if he should bother with his boots, he combed his fingers through his hair and prowled across the floor.

_Relax_, he thought. _Go back to sleep. Get some food. Do not pace. _

He stalked across the rug and back again. His weapons and armour had been dumped on the chair, and he eyed them dubiously. He did not like the idea of wriggling back into leathers that stank of blood and sweat and oil and smoke, but he supposed he would have to, come nightfall.

_Or earlier_.

He stopped again and held his hand out to catch the sunlight. Soft gold brushed the back of his knuckles, and he found the contrast with his coal-coloured skin odd. _How do surfacers stand it, with it beating down on them all the time? _

And Jaiyan's kobold had talked about the great eastern deserts, wherever they were. He had spoken of vast swathes of sand, where it was so hot the air danced and shimmered, and the light painted pictures that were not there. Imloth had felt the sweating, close heat of deep caverns in the Underdark, where every breath was suffocating, and sweat ran as freely as water off a scout's skin.

But to be that uncomfortably hot, and to have the sun hammering down from above as well; he could not picture it.

He tipped his hand both ways and smiled as the marigold light washed across his skin.

A knock at the door startled him. "Yes?"

The Seer stepped inside, balancing a tray in one hand, and a clutch of healing potions in the other. He hurried across the rug, helped her. "I was just about to come down," he said, apologetic. "You didn't have to…"

She laid the tray on the table, and he saw sliced meat and steaming potatoes, and some mulched-up orange something that he could not for the life of him identify. There was a carafe of wine, as well, and two glasses.

"It was no trouble," she answered. "I wanted to see how you were."

"I'm fine." He joined her at the table, poured the wine. He risked a quick glance at her, and saw that her face was serene as ever. "You mentioned that you had visions?"

"Yes." She accepted one of the glasses, perched on the edge of the bed. A faint line creased her brow. "I saw you, out in the city. It was raining, and there were devils. They fired arrows."

"That did happen," he said. "We ran into the arch-devil. He played us, let us go until he thought we'd run far enough, and they fired after us."

"I saw your sword falling, and I saw you, covered in blood."

The quiet, fragile note in her voice lacerated him. "That happened as well," he explained. "It was raining, and I couldn't see properly. Nathyrra and I holed up, and I tried to check back behind us. An arrow clipped against my sword, and I dropped it."

"Ah." The Seer sighed. "And the blood?"

"Was Nathyrra's. But I was soaking wet, so it spread."

The Seer's lips lifted in a rueful smile. "I wish I had the time and the scholars with me to study these visions."

"Are they less clear, here?"

"Yes. Very much so. I thought…I thought I had seen your death." She blinked rapidly. "Imloth, I also saw Valen."

"What..?"

She gazed down into the dark wine. "I saw Valen, and Jaiyan, and Deekin. In a place that was all snow."

He picked up his glass, sipped at the wine. The taste was sharp, and tangy, and so very unusual. "How can that be?" he asked carefully.

"I do not know," she said. "I saw them. Alive, breathing. Happy."

"Happy?"

"Do you remember how they were, just before the attack?"

_When they found each other. _"Yes," he answered, quietly. "Yes. I remember. What do you think it means?"

She shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

He smiled. "Did you see anything else?"

"Snow. Cold. A fire burning over strange plants, not wood."

Imloth swirled the wine around. The back of his neck felt tight, and he wondered what such visions might mean. "We saw them die."

"Yes." She flicked a rebellious lock of white hair away from her face. "I'm sorry. I'm inadvertently starving you. Please, eat something."

He glanced at the tray, and realized that his stomach was churning. "Seer, I was wondering, if…"

"Yes?" She looked across at him, her pale gaze innocuous and listening.

"Before, when I came back to the inn, you…and before that, we…." _Oh, yes, you're doing _so_ well. What was it you suggested to Valen? Just go and talk to her? Wonderful way to take your own advice._

"Yes." She clasped her hands together on her lap. "If I have…made you feel at all uncomfortable…"

"No," he said, too quickly. "No…not at all."

"Ah." The Seer smiled, shifted around so that she faced him properly. "That…pleases me."

Imloth gazed into her face and wondered what exactly he should do next. _Take her to bed,_ he had told Valen, _along with two other equally pretty maidens_.

As if he could dare suggest such a thing. _Not when he was more used to being ordered to take his clothes off and lie down, while his mistress prepared herself, and whatever playthings she had for the evening. _

"Imloth?"

"Yes?" His heart was jumping, he realized.

"It is alright." She reached out, cupped his chin, and turned his face towards her. Her other hand brushed his hair aside. She leaned up and very gently kissed the very tip of his ear. "Imloth..?"

His throat closed up. _She is not going to hurt you_, his mind told him firmly. _She can't possibly be hiding chains on her anywhere, and besides, you _know_ her_. "Seer, I…"

"It is alright," she murmured again. Her fingers played softly down the slanted length of his ear, rested at his chin. Barely touching him, she leaned forward again, and kissed him.

Without thinking, he clasped her face in his hands and responded, yielding against her, discovering that her mouth was warm and damp and soft.

Part of his mind screamed at him for such a violation. The other, less sensible half noted her satisfied sigh as she pulled away to draw breath.

"Seer, I did not…"

"Don't apologise," she said. She touched a finger to his mouth. "Don't you dare apologise."

He smiled. "I want to say that I'm sorry, but that wouldn't be correct. What should I do instead?"

Her pale eyes gleamed. "What would you like to do?"

Tentatively, he reached up, pulled out the pins that tamed her hair. Thick white tresses spilled free, coiling across her shoulders and her throat. He feathered his fingers through a fallen wing of snowy hair, marveled at the sleekness of it.

Drow had many ways of remarking upon physical beauty, but these seemed like shallow, bland platitudes. _How to say that you think she's beautiful, without it seeming like a rehearsed line to a Matron Mother?_

"Your hair is so soft," he mumbled. He cautiously lifted the white lock to his mouth, ran it over his lips. He smelled soap, and herbs that he could not name. "Seer…"

"Yes, Imloth?"

He looked up, and into her wide-lashed eyes. "I don't know what to do next," he said, honestly.

She smiled. "Anything you want."

His heart was hammering, and he realized he felt more afraid than that time he had stepped into the area only to see five drow opponents and two trolls. Keeping his gaze on her face, he threaded his hands through her hair and kissed her. Her eyes closed, and she sighed up into his mouth.

He locked his arms around her, held her as tightly as he could against him. Her lips were warm and eager against his. Her hands slipped up into his hair and stroked. She found his ears again, and the tips of her fingers slid along them until he broke away from her mouth and moaned. "_Oh_, that feels…too good."

She laughed gently. "Forgive me?"

He trailed a trembling hand down the side of her face. "Anything."

_What now,_ he wondered. _Do I just sit here and kiss her, and enjoy myself, or..? _

"Imloth," she murmured. "You look far too serious."

"Well, there is an arch-devil outside, and we're drow on the surface, and we'll likely all be dead in a day or so…" He grinned. "But these are such trifling matters, aren't they?"

"Compared to this?" She kissed him again, teasingly, and he considered the merits of never leaving the room again. "But of course."

His hands slipped down to her waist, and he could feel the heat of her skin beneath. "Seer?"

"Yes?"

He kissed his way along her forehead, and up onto her ear. He paused, his lips over the pointed tip. "Why me?"

She tilted her head. "Why you? Why me, as well?"

"Well…" He kissed the top of her ear, then turned her head so that he could look at her properly. "You're…not like normal drow females."

Their language had few words for trust – save the opposite of it – and even less for the emotional business of love. Words for lust and desire abounded, and Imloth reckoned an old mistress of his could have written a book on how to demand various services in bed. _But for simple explanations of emotion, well, there drow falls down somewhat, doesn't it?_

"The highest accolade," the Seer said, a little wickedly.

"I didn't mean…" He shook his head. "I don't know how to say these things."

"Ssh. I'm teasing you." She rested her hands against his chest. "And as for why you…Imloth, I feel…safe, around you."

Looking at her, he thought he understood. _Safe, and protected, and somehow peaceful_. "I think I know what you mean." He combed his hands through her hair. "Seer?"

"Yes, Imloth?"

"I…what do you want me to do next?"

She stirred against him, and her head lifted. She looked up and him with something very like sorrow in her eyes. "Tell me what _you_ would like to do."

"But…" He frowned. _Why are you asking me? You're meant to tell me, and then I will please you in whatever manner you wish, and then…_ "What if I get it wrong?"

She kissed his cheek. "You won't."

He stared at her. _You knew she was unlike the others_. There was no anger in her eyes, no impatience; only trust. "Can I…touch you?"

She smiled. "I would like that."

Tremulously, he explored the slant of her cheekbones, the dip at the hollow of her throat. His hands travelled lower, gently caressing, and he heard her breath catch. He found the collar ties of her robe, glanced back at her face. "May I..?"

At her nod, he slipped the knots open, pushed the robes off her shoulders. The shift beneath followed, and then he was gazing at her bare skin. She was beautiful, all unbroken ebony, and delicate.

He realized he was staring at her when her hand rested against his shoulder. "Oh…I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Ssh. You did nothing wrong." She smiled, and plucked at his tunic. "May I?"

He lifted his arms obediently, and the warm air touched his skin.

"Well," the Seer murmured appreciatively. "You _are_ striking."

_She's seen you like this before_, his mind protested. _Well, yes, but you were injured and writhing around covered in blood…a little different, yes?_

She trailed a hand up his chest, and he shivered. _Say something back,_ he thought desperately. _Think of something. _"Imloth?"

He blinked. "Yes?"

"You look serious again." She cupped his face in her hands, and he was tortuously aware of her naked skin near his. "Dare I suggest that you stop thinking?"

"I wasn't…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. This is…very different."

"I know. Is that bad?"

"No," he answered. _No, because it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't feel awful. It feels…good. _"No…I just fear I am not very good at it."

"Do you wish to stop?" she asked gently.

"No," he said, vehemently. "No, I don't." He drew in a deep breath, abandoned all rational thought, and said, "I want you, but I don't quite know how to go about it. I mean, I do know how to go about it, but…"

She smiled, not mocking. "I understand. May I help you?"

He nodded, did not quite trust himself to speak. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth first, then his chin, then trailed her lips down his throat to his chest. She stroked and kissed her way down to his waistband and stopped. There was an infuriating moment while she breathed against his skin, before she trailed back up to his face again.

"Oh…that felt very good." He knotted his hands in her hair. "What would you like?"

_Oh, yes, that sounds very unplanned, very informal, doesn't it? Just like something you'd _never_ say to a mistress, of course. _

He shoved such thoughts aside and bit down on a groan when she guided his hands across her. Her skin was warm, and so very soft, and she twisted delightfully in his arms when he kneaded her breasts. She murmured something against his collarbone, and pushed gently.

He ended up on his back, her lithe shape a taunting weight across his hips. The sensation of her sliding against his chest made him close his eyes. "Seer, is this…is this what you want?"

She nuzzled his throat. "Yes. Is it what you want?"

"Oh, _gods. _Yes. I meant, is what I'm doing…"

"Perfect," she murmured, while he ran his hands up and down her. "Are you thinking again?"

He laughed then, despite himself. "Yes," he admitted. "Forgive me?"

She moved down him until she was poised over thighs and her hair tickled his stomach. "Anything. May I?"

He managed a nod, and groaned as she loosened the ties on his leggings. Slowly, she peeled them down over his hips, and he froze for a brief, terrible instant. _The last time this happened to you_, he thought madly, _she carved the inside of your thighs open afterwards, and told you to be thankful she hadn't cut you anywhere more important. _

"Imloth?" The Seer's head lifted, and he saw the concern in her eyes.

"I'm fine," he said, raggedly. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"Don't be sorry." Her hands smoothed up his legs, gently squeezing. She leaned in, kissed the hollow of his hip.

Some of the tension drained from him, and he moaned aloud when she wrapped a hand around him. "_Oh,_ gods."

The pressure of her fingers had him shuddering, and when she straddled him and guided him into her, he nearly lost himself. She traced her hands across his chest, and whispered his name. She started to move, rising and falling slowly against him, her hair a white curtain on either side of her face.

The sheer simple pleasure of this, the _intimacy_ of it, without observers, or harshly snapped commands, or the threat of pain; it felt both unusual and utterly _right_.

_It's also far too much,_ he thought frantically. "I'm not going to last…"

She smiled and kissed his throat. "It's alright," she murmured.

Her hips circled against his, and her hands delved into his hair again. He cried out as the release washed through him, almost painful in its unfamiliar intensity. For a long, drowsy moment, he lay there, feeling her weight on top of him, and her lips brushing his ear.

And then he remembered he was in bed with a female, and that he had reached his climax first, and that he had done little except lie there and moan. _Oh, Gods, she's going to be angry. _He tried to sit up, but she planted her hands on his chest and pinned him.

"Imloth," she said quietly. "I am not displeased with you. Quite the opposite."

"Oh." He exhaled quickly. "But you did not…"

"No." Her eyes gleamed. "Not yet. Imloth, you are allowed another go, I promise."

He laughed at her disarming smile. "I'm glad. I would hate you to think me a complete disappointment."

She traced a hand down his chest, following the taut lines of muscle. "Quite the opposite," she said again.

Encouraged by her slight nod, he sat up and lifted her into his lap. He knew all the places on a female's body that should be touched, or caressed, or licked. He knew how to bring a female to a quick, shivering climax, and yet it seemed too clinical, somehow, to approach her in that manner. _Too practiced, too mechanical_. _Too servile._

Instead, he explored her slowly and carefully, finding curves and lines and stroking. He took his time, and paused often to kiss her, and found her still eager. She was small and slim in his arms, and he enjoyed the slick feel of her skin. The yielding wetness between her thighs was tantalizing, and he smiled as she arched up against his fingers. He teased her with his hands and his mouth until she whimpered. He kissed her again, softly, and lifted her hips to meet him.

She twisted beneath him as he thrust into her, and pulled his head down so she could press feverish kisses against the side of his ear. When she tightened around him, and stiffened in his arms, he found himself following, loosing himself again to her.

Afterwards, in the strange lull, she curled up against his chest and drew his arms around her. He had half-expected to be ordered out of the bed, and away from her, and then thoroughly cursed himself for daring to think such things. "Seer?"

"Yes, Imloth?"

"Is it…alright if I stay?"

She laughed. "Let me put it this way. It is _not_ alright if you leave."

_Well, that solves that problem_. Marveling, he threaded his fingers through her hair. "Seer?"

She trailed circles on his shoulder. "Yes?"

"What's your name?"

She laughed again, and he wondered if this was what she had been like when she was much younger, before Lith My'athar, and before her visions. She tugged his head down, and whispered something in his ear.

"Really?" He coughed. "I mean…that's a very…unprepossessing name."

"I know. I was the youngest of seven daughters, and there were at least another six males that my mother counted worthy enough of the family name." She twisted a lock of his hair around her fingers. "Like yours, my mother was a great Matron. It seemed her favorite pastime was playing us against each other."

Imloth understood that; unless there had been war with rival Houses, his family turned their attentions on each other. "Yes. I imagine that like mine, yours was rather good at it."

"Very. She was quite old – she had survived so many plots and machinations I think she believed herself immortal. When she died, she was very close to her third century."

"That's…impressive." Drow rarely survived so long, he knew; not with the brutal nature of political accession among the elite. "May I ask how she died?"

The Seer rested her forehead against his chest. "That is not a cheerful tale."

"I would like to know, if you would like to tell me."

"When I was much younger, I was rash enough to make my way up to the surface."

Guilt burrowed into his stomach. "Oh…I asked you about that, didn't I? And I never let you finish…"

"Don't worry." She hooked her hand behind his head, guided him into a lingering kiss. "I was my mother's daughter, and I was trained as an assassin, and given all the privileges of such. She must have sensed that I was…distant. So, when the day came that I stole away to the surface, she had me followed." She drew in a careful breath. "I found a tunnel that led up, and it was nighttime. The moon was full, and clear. And, oh…Imloth, it was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful."

Eilistraee's moon, hanging in the night sky; Imloth nodded. He had never seen it; the sky over Waterdeep always seemed to be either thick with smoke or cloud or both. "What did it look like?"

"A pale, perfect disc. Silver. The Tears of Selune following…beautiful. Turning everything hushed and bright." She smiled and brushed her lips against his chest. "I'd had visions, dreams, in the Underdark, and they frightened me. I was never faithful to Lolth, but…"

He understood. To be called to throw aside all semblance of protection, and swear loyalty to a goddess whose very name could mean death; he understood very well. He remembered murmuring half-hearted prayers to the Spider Queen along with his brothers, and wondering if his mother would be able to sense the difference in his voice.

"But on the surface it seemed simpler," the Seer said. "So I pledged myself, and stood in devotion beneath the moonlight. And when I went back into the Underdark, the four assassins my mother sent after me found me. And I…killed them. All of them. With spells, mostly, but the fourth…I cut her throat."

Imloth tightened his arms around her. "What happened after?"

"I went back to my mother's House," she said, a little rueful. "I was young, and afraid, and I wondered if I went back, alive, would she merely pretend nothing had happened?"

"Yes." When he had been little more than a child, an older brother had trapped him in the training hall. He had fought his brother off, and left him with a broken arm, a shattered jaw, and little pride. And, upon venturing warily up to his mother's chambers upon her summons, had discovered his brother sent away, and him thanked by way of a gift of a sword; and yet he never did hear his mother speak of it directly.

"But she _knew_," the Seer whispered. "She knew my devotion had never been to Lolth – but maybe that could have been changed, in time. But now that my loyalty was to Eilistraee, well, what use was I, as a daughter, or a drow, or a future Matron Mother?"

A little tentative, Imloth traced his fingers up the side of her ear. "What did she do?"

"She demanded that I renounce Eilistraee, privately before her, and then publically, before her councilors." She licked at dry lips. "I refused. I was headstrong and foolish, and screamed at her that Lady Silverhair had gifted me with visions, pictures of the future. So my mother told me there was little to do but have me executed as a traitor."

Imloth had never stayed long enough to hear those words from his own mother. _No,_ his mind taunted. _You bolted, and killed your brother instead, because he was too afraid to go back to her. _

"She sent for her guards, but before they arrived, I…I killed her." The Seer trembled. "One simple spell. A death spell that turned her heart inside out and had her shrieking on the floor before me as she died." Another tremor ran through her. "I ran away, after that, and spent a long time in the Underdark, finding drow who did not care for Lolth."

"You killed her..?" Imloth kissed her forehead. "You are braver than I would have been."

"No. I was frightened, terribly so." She smiled sadly. "Ah, well. An old story."

"Thank you for telling me." He rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, and settled her comfortably against his chest. "How long were you in the Underdark, before Lith My'athar?"

"Oh…I was very young when I ran away, maybe all of forty-five or so. So…over fifty years. Yes…closer to sixty. Lith My'athar was an abandoned outpost. The group I was with – there were a few hundred of us by then – took it over, and we decided it might make an acceptable haven."

Imloth counted quickly, and frowned. Drow discounted decades as easily as surfacers ignored months, or the odd excess year, but still, he had not imagined her to be this young. Certainly most adult drow females took on that deceptive, somehow ageless look, but he had always assumed her to be venerable, not of the same age as him. "You're…much younger than I thought."

She laughed. "Is that a problem?"

"No, just…" He smiled. "Never mind."

A knock at the door jarred his thoughts. Feeling somewhat foolish, he dropped a quick kiss on her hair, draped the sheets over her, and rummaged around for his clothes. Another knock followed, insistent. Growling to himself, he yanked his leggings on, and made it to the door just as a third pounded against the planks.

He opened the door and snapped, "Yes, what?"

Durnan raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Am I disturbing you?"

Imloth glanced away from the door guiltily. "What? No, no. Of course not. What's happened?"

The innkeeper drew in a slow breath. "The city's on fire."

"What..?"

"Started maybe an hour ago. Roof sentries saw fire, on the other side of the river. Figured maybe it was yon arch-devil having some fun. But the fire's spreading, and I'm wondering if he wants the whole city down to the ground."

"How long do we have?"

"Not sure." The innkeeper shrugged helplessly. "I've got your clerics and mine all lined up with spells, and my fellows with buckets and water. The well's still working in the yard, and I've got more lads running outside with pails to the well across the street. It's just…lad, if this tavern burns, we've no place else to go."

"I know," Imloth said softly. "Give me a moment. I'll be dressed and down."

Durnan grinned wearily. "Bring the Seer down with you, will you? Her spells will be useful."

Imloth spluttered. "How did you…what makes you think she's in here?"

"Lad," the innkeeper said severely. "I saw her myself on her way up here _hours_ ago, and she hasn't emerged since. Now, I don't want to know what kind of strange drow things you were doing to each other, but the noise kind of gave you away, and besides, I can see her clothes on the floor from here."

Imloth clicked his mouth shut. "Right."

"Just get yourselves ready." Durnan rubbed a hand across his eyes. "And then we'll see."

Left alone with the Seer again, Imloth fumbled his shirt and tunic and boots on. He paused beside the bed, lined with the late afternoon sunlight. He wanted to stay, and try to put into words what he felt, but he had no clue where to begin. "I don't…"

"Go," she urged quietly. With the sheets pooled around her waist, she leaned up and cupped his face. "I will be down soon. Go and get ready."

"Do you see what will happen?"

She kissed him, tenderly, plying his lips apart with her tongue. "No," she answered, honestly. "I don't know what will happen."

"Thank you. I don't…"

"Go," she said again, as gently. "You need to go."

"Yes." He stared at her for a long moment, twined in the sheets, and turned away. The city was burning, and he was needed downstairs, so he gathered up his weapons, and stepped through the door, and wondered if Eilistraee cared enough to grant them some small chance of survival.


	50. Chapter 50

_**Chapter Fifty – Inferno**_

Durnan stood on the roof and stared at the flames playing across roofs and towers and spires. The sky above was fading into twilight, and the river was silver, curling through smoke-hazed buildings. He fancied he could hear screaming, but he wondered if it was his imagination foisting gruesome tricks on him. _A wall of fire_, he realized grimly. _A few more hours, and we'll be cut off entirely. _

The air was hot and thick with falling ash and trailing embers. On the street below, he heard his men running, carrying water, calling desperately for help. They had spread damp cloths over everything wooden, taken the hay bales from the stables and tossed them. Others piled barricades at the ends of the alleys, and in the streets behind the inn yard, high wooden cordons were draped with wet sheets.

_Like that's even going to help_, Durnan thought sourly.

From his vantage point, he could see shapes seething through the streets, tall creatures with massive swords pushing contingents of undead fighters before them. He still held out some hope that the undead would perish in flames, but he knew the devils would be little affected.

_And the arch-devil himself? Well, maybe this is what he wants. His grand, flaming farewell to Waterdeep before he takes himself off somewhere else. _

Durnan shook his head, frustrated. _Not if I have anything to do with it, he won't. _

_And how are you going to manage that, old man? With a handful of exhausted men and a bunch of underfed drow who can't stand bright light as it is? _

Durnan spun away from the edge and strode back down inside. He stopped off at the armoury, and heaved on the chain and leathers he thought he might never again wear.

"When was the last time you put these on?" Mhaere asked behind him.

"To wear and plan to use properly? Must've been when Tamsil couldn't yet walk." He sighed and adjusted his sword-belt. "I don't mind admitting they're a little tight across the belly."

Mhaere laughed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hold the fort," he answered wearily. "Keep the yard clear of embers. Keep the lads fed and watered. Keep Tamsil from panicking."

"I think she'd like to see you," Mhaere suggested gently.

Durnan squirmed. "I don't have time, love. You know that."

His wife nodded slowly. "I should be out there with you."

"Ten years, ago, woman. _Maybe_."

She clipped his shoulder lightly. "I could always lay you on your backside quicker than blinking."

"Only because you had to wear all that damn paladin armour. Gave you unholy muscles, it did." Durnan snapped the last clasp closed. "I need you in here, love."

"I know." She tugged his swordbelt round. "Don't you dare let this tavern burn down."

He grinned. "Think I would?"

"I did not marry you for your good looks." She leaned up, kissed his cheek. "Come back safe."

"No, you wily harpy. You only married me for my business prospects." Durnan laughed and wrapped his arms around her. "I'll be back later."

Not quite able to look her in the eyes, he ruffled his wife's hair, smirked at her half-hearted protest, and made his way out into the street. Where, their eyes shielded against the setting sun, he found Imloth and the Seer. They sat a little closer together than propriety demanded, and Imloth's gaze jumped longingly from the street to the Seer. And she in return traced her fingers over the back of his hand and wrist. Durnan found himself grinning. _Who knew a pair of hundred-and-something darklings could act all soppy? _

More drow lined the streets, helping Durnan's men line buckets in front of the inn, or else aid with the barricades. "Anything yet?"

Imloth shook his head. "Not a sign."

Durnan sighed and slouched against a crate beside them. "You ever seen a fire big as this?"

"Not as big as this," Imloth answered. "But, years ago, I scouted out ahead of a raiding party. I ended up stuck down a narrow tunnel looking for a wizard. The wizard apparently knew where my raiders were, and he sent fireball spells down the tunnel, six of them at least."

Durnan winced. "Where were you?"

"Stuck in an alcove, cowering as the fire went past." The drow shrugged. "Fire and water…good luck taming either."

"You'd prefer to do nothing?"

"No," he said, gentler. "But with the whole city going up around us, it's a losing battle."

"Are all drow this cheerful, or are you an exception?" Durnan leaned his chin on his hand. "And by the gods if I don't sound like your mother, but have you eaten?"

"You certainly do not sound like my mother, and yes, I have," Imloth replied lightly.

A fireball roared over the roof of the building opposite, came crashing down a few feet in front of one of the barricades. Sparks leaped up, and the air shimmered. Durnan lurched to his feet, motioned his men forward. "Get that out, now!"

The Seer raised her hands. Some white, crackling tangle of magic lifted from her spread fingers. It seethed up, and came enveloping down on the sputtering fire spell, snuffing it.

Durnan glared up at the inn roof. "Where the _hells_ did that come from?"

One of his sentries leaned over. "Too far to tell," he called down. "Can't see anything moving. Just flames."

The innkeeper sighed. "Wonderful. So now we play dodge the fireball while the arch-devil sits there and laughs at us." He narrowed his eyes at the Seer. "How long can you keep that up?"

"For as long as I need to," she answered icily.

Durnan laughed, a short, barked-out sound. "Glad to hear it." He tilted his head, listening.

"There's another one," Imloth whispered.

"Where?"

"Same direction."

The Seer stood poised, another pale, hissing spell already trapped between her hands. The fireball arced out of the sky above, trailing flames. The spell roared up, met it halfway, and Durnan blinked as the fireball exploded into nothing. Embers fell, scattering across cobbles and crates. Three of Durnan's men leaped up with blankets, batted the flames out.

"Well." Durnan exhaled loudly. "Wonder how long they're going to entertain themselves with this?"

Above, the twilit air was suddenly filled with the roar of unleashed magic. Wishing he had kept his mouth shut, the innkeeper looked up and gaped as the sky above was streaked with flame. Plummeting down towards the inn, a dozen or more fire spells, arcing in terrifying unison.

White light cracked out from the Seer's hands. Watching, the innkeeper saw sweat spring across her temples. Her fingers shook as she braced for the strength of the spell as she loosed it. The light jagged up, smashing against the incoming fireballs and hissing on contact. Debris showered down, dropped smouldering against the ground. The spell curved up and round, and collapsed. A sharp, head-hurting whine filled the air, and the spell snapped into nothing.

"I've…never seen that before," Durnan said, dazedly. "Can you…make it rain, maybe?"

The Seer drew in a shaky breath. "I don't think so," she said. "I do not control elemental forces. Rather, I just bind and turn energy to my bidding."

"Shame. Whole lot of rain could do some good right now. Course, on any other day in Waterdeep, it'd be pouring buckets already."

On the roof, one of the sentries gestured wildly. "Durnan! Undead! Both ends of the street!"

"Oh, hells." The innkeeper drew his sword. "Form up, everyone."

He stared at the blade in his hand and hoped he remembered how to use it properly. Behind him, his men settled into lines, divided between both barricades, facing out into the street beyond. Sidelong, he noticed Imloth hovering beside the Seer before leaning in and quickly kissing her cheek.

The drow stepped into formation beside him, small and lithe and with a slightly awkward expression. "Whatever you're about to say, say it now."

Durnan grinned. "I'm saying nothing. Only, you didn't need to make it so formal, lad, you know?"

Imloth groaned. "And you wonder why we hate surfacers."

"Hah." Durnan peered through the gathering shadows, saw shapes moving, eeling forward. "Think she can keep us from getting our heads fried off?"

"Of course she can."

Durnan sucked in a quick breath, ruefully realized his heart was thumping. _Good gods, man, how long has it been? Ten years, more, since you faced armed enemies like this? How long since you faced drow? Fifteen? More like twenty_.

Slithering towards the barricades, undead drow in loose ranks, filling the street. Dark shadows shifting against the gloom behind, their wide, vacant eyes fixed on nothing.

More fire spells rained in, spitting sparks and screaming down towards the street. Durnan gritted his teeth and tried not to turn around, tried not to look. _She can deal with it,_ he thought firmly. But he hated standing there, staring at the encroaching undead, and simply _trusting_ that the spells plummeting down overhead would be taken care of.

He heard the shriek as the Seer's counterspell flung up and met the fireballs. Heat washed over his head, and he glanced up, saw flames twisting and twining.

_She will deal with it_. Shaking all over, Durnan wrenched his gaze away and towards the barricades, and the undead beyond.

Another knot of energy snapped up from behind him, and somewhere overhead, flames sputtered.

"Durnan," Imloth murmured beside him. "Focus on the enemy."

_Yes. He's right. Focus on the enemy_.

There was a ripple of movement among the approaching undead. Heads turning, swords rising, some unspoken agreement.

A volley of arrows scythed down from the roof, slammed into the front ranks. Already dead drow tumbled again, pushed underfoot by those behind. Durnan gripped his sword tighter, watched as another hail of arrows flashed down. Eight fell soundlessly, and those behind still marched on without speaking.

"Gods above, why can't they just _talk?_ Shout, scream, taunt, anything?" he growled. "Unsettles a man, it does."

Imloth smiled. "I think that's the idea."

"And they say drow have no sense of humour." More arrows rattled down. Durnan hefted his sword, called out to his men. "Now! I want this street cleared!"

The undead cleared the barricade, hauling themselves up and over. Some fell back, arrows lodged in flesh and leather. Durnan stepped forward, realized his palms were slick with sweat. Overhead, the air whined and cracked as a counterspell whipped out.

Imloth darted past him, all liquid grace, his sword flickering up to meet the first line of the undead. He drove his blade to the hilt in the other drow's chest, spun past the strike of another. Another turn, and he smashed past his enemy's flailing defense and sliced open his throat.

Surrounded by drow on all sides, Durnan swallowed. _Damn darklings move like ghosts_. With Imloth on one side of him, and Nathyrra on the other, he felt fairly certain he would not mistake them for undead. _But gods above if they don't all look the same. How the hells do they fight each other and keep track of who's who in the damn Underdark?_

Another fireball whirred overhead, sending light flaring against walls and upraised swords. Durnan squinted, raised his sword, and launched himself at an undead drow menacing Imloth's left flank. His blade connected roughly, and the impact stung his hands. _Stop thinking, old man! You _know_ how to do this. Made a life doing this. _

He spun the sword around, batted the drow's weapon away. Followed up, and winced when the drow kicked out, slamming one booted foot against his thigh. Durnan swayed, spat out an obscenity. The drow's sword snapped in, and he dragged his own up half a second too late. His wrists trembled under the strain as he tried to push his opponent back.

A dark, lithe shape flitted in from his right, and he nearly leaped back before recognizing Imloth's face, familiar beneath the white braids at his temples. Imloth lunged, and his sword disappeared to the hilt in the undead drow's back.

"Thanks," Durnan grated.

Imloth melted away, turning elegantly to meet the next attacker. Durnan snorted and decided his attention would probably be better spent on _fighting_ than watching drow. He stepped up beside Nathyrra, braced himself as another undead drow crashed into him. This one was stocky for his kind, clad in heavy armour. _Now this I can deal with_, the innkeeper thought.

He drew back his arm and punched the drow squarely in the mouth. He staggered, and his swords lowered. Durnan smashed the hilt of his own blade across the drow's head, flipped the sword around, and drove it into his throat. He looked up, and saw that the ranks of undead stretched far back, beyond the neck of the alleyway. Something bright and hissing exploded overhead, and he cringed as he saw the light flicker across dozens and dozens of raised swords. Still, he knew there was little else to do, except cut them down one by one, and pray they would outlast the night and the fire.

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Jaiyan paced across cold stone. Mist clung to her ankles, rippled across the polished floor beneath. Not far away, the Reaper seemed to watch her from beneath the folds of his cowl.

He had expressed only the barest hint of surprise when the three of them had stepped back into his gateway realm.

_He clasped his hands over his robe, and tilted his head slightly to one side. "Sojourner," he said, quietly. "You have done well."_

_Jaiyan grinned. "You sound so pained when you say that. Did you expect us to fail miserably?"_

_"I hoped for your success, but let us be honest, Sojourner. Cania does not treat her travelers kindly." _

_"No, she doesn't."_

_"You may rest, if you wish," the Reaper said. "If you need weapons, I have a small armoury."_

_Jaiyan blinked. "You do? Why would _you_ need an armoury?" _

_The Reaper shrugged. "One collects many things when one wanders between the worlds."_

_"Fine. Be mystical about it." She glanced across at Valen. "Can I…Can I talk to you?" _

_He smiled. "Beloved, do you need to ask?"_

_She twisted her hands together nervously. While Deekin curled up around his lute, she led the tiefling away from the pillars, to where the stone walls curved around a small alcove. She sat down and tugged him down beside her. "What the Knower said…about me. About us. Do you believe her?" _

_Valen brushed her hair away from her face. "Jaiyan, I don't need some arcane enchantress to tell me that I will never leave you, not as long as you will have me."_

_She smiled shakily. "I'm…very scared. Of going back to Waterdeep. Of Mephistopheles." _

_Until now, the thought of facing the arch-devil had been merely that; a far-off prospect. But now, with the trials of Cania behind them, the fear she had felt in the Valsharess' throne room loomed up again._

_"I know." Valen cradled her face in his hands. "But he will fall, and we will survive." _

_She bit her lip. "You're so certain?"_

_"Yes." He kissed her slowly, and she let her eyes close. The inside of his mouth was hot, and his hands against her skin were comforting. "Yes, I am certain. My love?"_

_She twisted a hand through his hair, found his horns. "Mmm?"_

_"It will not be easy. I want you to stay behind me as much as you can." _

_"Hey, I killed the Valsharess, you know. I'm not completely helpless." _

_He laughed. "The Valsharess wasn't over fifteen feet tall." _

_"Point taken." She leaned against his chest. "I'm still scared, though." _

_"I know." He stroked her back, gently soothing. "I need to go to the armoury, and you need to prepare, and your kobold needs to pack his lute away, unless he was planning on serenading Mephistopheles to death." _

_Jaiyan giggled. "I think I'd pay to see that." _

She snapped free of drifting thoughts and swore. She paced between the pillars again, and wondered why Valen was taking so long in the armoury.

Deekin nudged her leg. "Boss should sit down. Boss be wearing path into Reaper's floor soon."

"How the hells do we kill an arch-devil, Deeks?"

"Same way we kill other big things. By fighting dirty and sending Goat-man in first."

She laughed, a gulping, terrified kind of laugh. Footsteps rang between the pillars, and she turned, saw Valen. He had a shield between his hands, and a determined expression on his face.

"Don't even think about arguing," he said, as she opened her mouth. "I am _not_ having you go up against an arch-devil with nothing between you and him apart from leathers and a single sword."

She clicked her teeth closed. "I…don't like shields."

"Tough."

"It's going to be too heavy."

"No, it isn't. It's wood, only banded with metal." He glared at her, daring her to disagree. "It's not huge. If this is the difference between your left side getting ripped open, then you'll wear it."

"I will, will I?" Jaiyan folded her arms and glowered right back at him. Then she sighed. "I will."

"Good." Smiling faintly, Valen lifted her arm, buckled the shield on. He yanked the straps tight and eyed her. "How does it feel?"

"Heavy," she muttered. "Valen?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Mmm?"

"Thanks." She shifted, balanced the new, unfamiliar weight of the shield. "I suppose it's not so heavy, after all."

"No." He smiled. "Are you ready?"

_No. Not at all. Absolutely not. _"Actually…" She took a deep breath. _Is this the right thing to do? Can they really do what she said they could? _"There was something I wanted to talk about."

He nodded briskly. "What?"

_Does he even want this? Is it too arrogant to even think I should do this?_ Jaiyan stared up into his face, prayed she was making the right choice, and mumbled, "Oeskathine the Demon-wrestler…"

Valen stiffened. "What are you doing..?"

"I…" _Do it now, or you'll cave and never do it. _"I release you from your demonic taint."

"You…what?" He scowled, and the air around him _changed_. Something flickered, something Jaiyan could not quite see. A bone-deep tremor ran through him, and he staggered. His eyes closed, and his whole frame convulsed. He crashed down onto his knees, and Jaiyan nearly panicked.

"Valen?" She crouched down beside him, reached out with her free hand. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he was swallowing down air like a man just saved from drowning. "Valen, love? Can you hear me?"

He leaned against her heavily. "Next time," he said thickly, "Please warn me before you do something like that."

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry." Her throat felt suddenly too tight. "I'm sorry, I didn't think…I don't know what I thought. I just…hated seeing you loathe yourself."

He blinked slowly. "What does it even mean?"

"Well…your tail and horns haven't fallen off, so I assume you're still a tiefling." She shrugged guiltily. "When I thought about it, I just wanted that side of you…that other side…to stop plaguing you." She looked up into his very blue eyes. "I don't really know what it means. I don't want to go back to Cania to find out, though."

He laughed and crushed her against his chest. "You are the most insane, wonderful woman. I suppose we'll find out, in time."

"It means you are no longer a slave to the demon in your blood," the Reaper intoned helpfully. "You still carry your infernal heritage, but you will tame and control it. Not the other way around."

Valen nodded slowly. "You didn't really think my horns would fall off, did you?"

"Well…not really. But I'd would've preferred you lose the horns over the tail. Just a…personal preference."

He flushed wine-red. "Don't we have an arch-devil to kill?"

The Reaper inclined his head. "Sojourner, would you care to see Waterdeep?"

"You can do that?"

Cloth rustled as the Reaper lifted his hand. Between two columns, a pale curtain of light shimmered and twisted. Colour rushed across the fluttering surface, narrowing down into a recognizable spread of buildings and roofs, and the curve of the river.

"Oh, gods," Jaiyan muttered, hushed. "It's on fire."

And it was; flame rippled between buildings, engulfed roofs and spires. Black smoke boiled above the shell of what had been a huge temple. Clouds of embers swept up as the outside wall of a warehouse toppled and fell. She could see small figures, scattered and running. Some falling beneath great gouts of smoke and flame. Others still fleeing, while the fire lit the night sky above.

"Oh, hells." She felt Valen's arm, winding around her waist, and leaned into him. "Reaper, do you know where Mephistopheles is?"

The Reaper said nothing, but the images swirled and changed. Resolving into a street swarming with fighting drow, and buildings on fire at both ends. At the far end of the street, where the buildings opened out onto a square, stood the arch-devil himself.

_He's smiling_, Jaiyan thought, chilled. _He's enjoying himself_.

She dragged her gaze away from the arch-devil. Rank upon rank of drow pushed down the street, only halted by swaying barricades and a flagging line of human defenders. Arrows sheeted down from above. A fireball whipped down from somewhere overhead, and she winced as she saw it plough through the drow.

"That's The Yawning Portal," she blurted.

"Boss be sure?"

"What?" Valen stared. "The tavern?"

"Yes. Look." She pointed wildly. _Maybe Durnan's alive, _she thought. _Maybe he's alright. _"Look. I _know_ that building. See? You can see the doors. And the shape of the roof. That's _my_ tavern that's about to be burned down."

"Sojourner," the Reaper said carefully. "Are you ready?"

_Am I? _"Yes," she answered, unsteadily. "Yes. I think so. I'm not sure."

"Sojourner," the Reaper muttered. "Just decide."

"Yes. I'm ready."

"Very well." The Reaper motioned, and the images flicked out. The shimmering curtain remained, trembling between the pillars. "Sojourner, we shall not meet again."

"You almost sound like you're going to miss me," Jaiyan remarked lightly.

"Step through the portal, and meet your destiny." The Reaper clasped his hands together again. "And, Sojourner?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

She paused, and gazed at the Reaper's unmoving, unreadable cowl. "Thank you."

Valen squeezed her hand. "Ready?"

She looked at him, and then at Deekin, and then back to the tiefling. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, and adored Deekin, and was petrified that either one of them might die. _But Waterdeep is burning, and will be ash if you stand around moping_.

"Yes," she said again. "I'm ready."

With Valen's hand wrapped tight around hers, and Deekin holding onto her belt, she stepped through the portal, into whatever lay beyond.

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Imloth threw himself out of the path of an axe, and swore when he landed awkwardly. Nathyrra dived in ahead of him, plunged her daggers to the hilt in the attacking drow's chest. She steadied him as he stumbled. "Go back," she shouted. "Take a moment." When he hesitated, she pushed him, and snapped, "We're fine. Get out of here."

He picked his way back through the defenders, noticed Durnan crashing a fist into a drow's temple before beheading her. Every breath he took was sour with the taste of ash, and his throat hurt. _Too much smoke in the air. _He tried not to flinch when a huge fireball roared past and thumped into the inn roof. He heard the roof sentries calling for help. He forced tired muscles to move and ran, pushing past the Forlyth Kallen's guards, and towards the door.

Flames already licked across the gables, and smoke twined up. _Oh, gods. If the roof goes, the whole building's gone_.

He saw the Seer, still braced in front of the door. She glanced up, saw the fire. Her arms lifted, and he felt the cold wash from her as the spell built. White light speared up, cloaking over the flames. Ice crackled the length of the gables, and the whole tavern shook and groaned.

"Nice timing," Imloth called.

The Seer turned, and smiled. "A little too close, though, I fear."

He paused a step or so away from her. He wanted to stand closer, to wrap his arms around her and check that she was still breathing.

"You're hurt," she said, softly.

"What? No, not really." He shifted his weight, realized the long gash he had sustained on the back of one calf was throbbing. "Superficial scrapes."

"How is it, out there?"

"Chaotic," he answered wearily. "There's undead by the hundreds, it seems. And the arch-devil appears, looks at us, smirks, and vanishes again."

"He's playing with us."

"I know." He opened his mouth to say more, but a hail of fire arrows sliced through the darkness above and arced down towards the tavern.

On the tavern roof, the sentries screamed. The familiar, wet sound of men falling reached Imloth's ears first, followed by the hiss and crackle as the flames leaped along the roof. Other shafts sailed down into the alley, cracked against the cobbles. Waiting with buckets, Durnan's men hurtled out from near the door, doused the arrowheads.

"Oh, _gods_. I can't _see_," the Seer snapped. For the first time, he heard open panic thread through her voice. She glanced past him, saw the men at the barricades falling back as the undead drow pushed on. "Imloth, I need you to give me enough space, yes?"

"Yes." Even as she raised her arms again, and the undead spilled past the barricade, he spun. He saw the guards dive in and block the attackers, but three eeled past.

Behind him, he heard the Seer murmur her incantation. He briefly wondered how long it would take the inn to crumble before the three drow were on him. They were agile, and unsettlingly fast, as they dodged around him. He whirled, swung out at the first. His sword was met and blocked, and the tendons in his wrists sprang up as he forced his opponent back. He wrenched sideways, slammed his elbow into the drow's mouth. When his enemy stumbled, he lunged forward, gutted him. Still moving, he used the impetus to pivot again, and crash into the second.

The third, behind him, launched at him. He jumped away, dragging the second drow with him. The point of a sword raked along his chain shirt. He drove a knee into the second drow's chest and sliced his throat open while he swayed.

Pale light erupted from the Seer's hands, and the whine of unleashed magic was deafening. Bone-deep cold gripped the air as the spell exploded upwards.

Imloth turned, met the last drow's onrushing attack. Twin swords flickered, sweeping in from both sides. Imloth dropped to his knees, ducking one and blocking the second. He rolled away, winced as the swords snapped down onto the cobbles inches behind him. On his feet again, he avoided two more lunges, swept the swords aside. The drow stumbled back, tried to recover. Imloth kicked his ankles out from under him, pinned him to the ground with a blade through the ribs.

He straightened up, saw the remaining sentries peering over the roof. "How's the fire?"

"Out," the man shouted back. "But we're…we've lost four of us."

Imloth nodded. "I'll send you some help."

At the barricade, Durnan's men seethed across the gap, met the attacking undead. Spears flew, and two men fell, pinned through the chest.

Trembling fingers touched Imloth's wrist, turned him. "Is the fire…?"

The Seer, shaking, ribboned with sweat. "It's out," he said. "You have to go and rest. You're about to fall over."

"No." She shook her head, clutched harder at his hands. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." Behind, he heard screams. "Your clerics can do this."

"No." Another shake of her head, but her eyes were glazing with exhaustion. "I have to…"

She slumped against him, and he caught her. "I'm taking you inside."

"No, wait…"

He heard men shouting warnings. A spear whined past his head, thudded against the cobbles and skidded. On the roof, one of the sentries called out, yelled that he needed to be careful. He took a single step, and gasped as another spear thumped into the Seer's back. The impact drove her against him, and he staggered.

"Oh, no, no. No, no." _No. This is not happening. Can't be happening_.

Arrows flooded down from the roof, cutting across the undead. Imloth held the Seer as her knees buckled, and she collapsed against him.

"No, don't do this. Please don't. Come on." Mumbling now, and not quite able to see through stinging eyes, Imloth tipped her head up. "Come on. Look at me. Please look at me."

She smiled. Her eyes were half-open, and she gazed at some indistinct point past his shoulder. "Look, Imloth."

"What?"

"_Look_," she said again.

He twisted round, stared up. Above the rooftops, above the smoke haze and the flare from the fires, the night sky was clear. And there, floating against the blackness, the moon, full and round. _Silver and beautiful, just like she said, _he thought. He saw the trailing specks of the Tears of Selune, glittering against the sweep of sky behind.

"What does it mean?" he heard himself say.

She smiled again. Her mouth moved, and she said, "Hope."


	51. Chapter 51

_**Chapter Fifty-One – The Light of Cania**_

The flare of sudden light, and the sour taste of ash in her mouth; Jaiyan stumbled and blinked. The air was hazy with smoke, and she saw flames. _A wall of fire_, she realized with a sudden lurch of panic. All around, buildings burned, and the stink of charred wood and stone filled her throat. She staggered back a pace, and bumped into Valen's chest.

"It's alright," he murmured. He clasped her hand. "It's alright. I'm with you."

She nodded raggedly. She knew this square; this was the wide courtyard just up the street from The Yawning Portal, where merchants gathered early in the morning to shout prices.

Overhead, the flames gave way to clear night sky. Jaiyan gulped down another quick breath and squared her shoulders. She registered Deekin on her other side, his eyes round and wide as he stared.

There were drow, she saw, moving in the shadows, keeping close to the burning buildings.

"Oh, Gods," she muttered aloud. "What's wrong with them..?"

"They be not quite alive, not quite dead, Boss."

The drow were thickest at the head of the alley, she saw, and none of them seemed to have noticed the new arrivals. They thundered over barricades and crashed against lines of exhausted human defenders, she saw. The noise of battle was horrendous, all shouts and screams and the deafening clang of weapons in close quarters. Fireballs swept down into the street, and she saw the white flash of counterspells, rising to meet them mid-air, reducing sputtering flames to wisps of smoke.

She dragged her gaze away, saw that devils waited nearby, watching through burning eyes as their drow minions attacked.

"Alright." _Get a hold of yourself. Work out where Mephistopheles is_. "If you were a big, ugly arch-devil, where would you be?"

"Pardon me, my lady," said Mephistopheles, from some point behind her, "But do you come here often?"

Jaiyan turned slowly. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she wondered if he could hear it. _He's huge_, she thought unhelpfully.

Vast and tall and muscled, with a trident balanced easily in one massive hand. His tail snapped as he observed her wryly. "I seem to recall that you should be in Cania, little one," he said thoughtfully. "Wasting away and losing yourself to its trials."

Something in the arch-devil's unctuous, teasing tone irritated her. "Sorry," she snapped. "The Hells froze over."

Mephistopheles smiled. "And so you are here, foolishly. Dare I ask why?"

"Well, aside from the whole part where you _killed me_, I have to say that I'm particularly annoyed with what you're doing to my city." Jaiyan glared up at him. She was trembling, and certain that she was only standing because Valen had an arm around her waist. "Oh, and that bit where we had to trek through leagues and leagues of snow just to find a way back."

"A way back…" The arch-devil laughed. "And now you are back, what will you do?"

"The usual. Lots of hitting and fighting. This will involve your messy and painful death, I'm afraid."

The arch-devil laughed again, and Jaiyan gritted her teeth. _He's too big. Too powerful. Too strong. What the hells am I thinking? _

Valen tightened his grip on her, and she felt his lips brush her temple. "I'm with you," he murmured.

"So you think to oppose me, do you?" Mephistopheles leaned on his trident and eyed her, amused. "Tell me, little one, are these two allies the only minions you will send against me this day?"

"They're not _minions_."

"Of course not. I am sure they follow you out of simple love and devotion." The arch-devil's searing gaze swung and fixed on Valen. "You…have a tiefling with you. How…interesting. Tell me, young man, why do you follow her, doomed as you surely know she is?"

Valen gave him a stare that could have withered oak. "Is that any business of yours, devil?"

"Your demon blood betrays you, tiefling. But I could still…" Mephistopheles grinned, unsettlingly. "Do you remember the call of the Blood Wars, tiefling? The rage? The need to kill, and feel blood on your weapons and in your mouth?"

"I remember killing your kind," Valen answered coldly. "I remember the devils who fell beneath my flail."

"Indeed? And do you remember the _pleasure?_"

Valen's gaze flickered. Jaiyan searched his face, and quailed when she saw his eyes go terribly blank. She grabbed his hand, found his skin clammy. "Valen?"

"Do you remember it?" Mephistopheles said again. "The victory, and the screams of the dying?"

"Yes," the tiefling murmured. "Yes, I remember."

The arch-devil grinned. "You remember the pleasure? The simple enjoyment?"

"Yes…"

"You remember the pleasure of being ordered to kill at your master's command?"

"Yes…"

"Do you remember the taste of blood in your mouth?"

Valen's eyes were glassy. "Yes…I remember."

"And if…" Mephistopheles tipped his head on one side, thinking. "If I could return such feelings to you, such that you could revel in them, as you once did….what then?"

Watching, Jaiyan had no idea what to do. Her mind was flat with panic, and Valen's hand was loose in hers. _Sure, his eyes aren't red, but he sure as hells doesn't look much like Valen right now_. "Valen, don't…"

"_Return_ such feelings?" Valen's gaze sharpened on the arch-devil. "Tell me…why would I wish such feelings returned, when I have been haunted by them for longer than I care to remember? You offer no gift I wish to have, arch-devil. I will take my chances with my humanity instead. Take your false promises elsewhere."

Mephistopheles growled. "Then your other follower…this kobold has a thread of dragon blood running through him, if I'm not mistaken."

Deekin shivered as the arch-devil's eyes fixed on him. "Nope. Arch-devil not be mistaken."

"You fear your own weakness, do you not, kobold?"

"Um…Deekin supposes."

"Ah. A terrible thing, weakness. And what if I could take it all away, and let you come into your draconic heritage, as it should be?"

Deekin's black eyes narrowed, and his wings flared. "Deekin have only one thing to say to that."

"Yes?"

"Thing Deekin been wanting to say to big arch-devil for long times now." The little kobold glowered up into the arch-devil's looming face. "_Leave Boss alone!_"

Jaiyan stifled an inappropriate giggle. _Oh, Gods above. The _look_ on his face. I suppose generally arch-devils do not get yelled at by incandescently angry kobolds. _

Mephistopheles growled again, furiously. "Your followers display a bone-headed amount of loyalty."

"What can I say?" She shrugged. "They're just as crazy as me."

"Is this truly how you wish to die, little one?" The trident swiveled in the arch-devil's hands. "Here, surrounded by the ruins of your burning city?"

"Hey, live or die, it'll make a good story."

The arch-devil snarled, a strangled noise of frustration. "You will die, in pain, and in fire!"

"Keep talking, devil." Jaiyan shrugged, somehow kept her expression neutral despite her galloping heartbeat. "Longer you spout off, longer we stand here still breathing."

Mephistopheles roared. Fire flared at the tip of the trident. "Then die, foolish mortal!"

"_So_ overly dramatic." Jaiyan grinned despite the cold fear that broke through her. She lifted the shield, gazed over the rim. "Did you want to go first, or should we?"

Another thwarted scream wrenched from the arch-devil's throat. Fire exploded from the trident, and Jaiyan jumped to one side. Flames licked across the cobbles, white-hot at the edges, and scorching the stone.

Valen unhooked his flail and charged, diving past the sweep of the trident. On her other side, Deekin chanted, and the air in front of him glowed. Pale lances of light shot out, arrowing against the arch-devil's wings. Devil's Bane thumped against the arch-devil's side, raking through skin and drawing blood. Mephistopheles howled and kicked out, sending Valen staggering. Gritting her teeth, deciding she was almost certainly about to die, Jaiyan leaped between them. She dodged a whistling strike from the trident, and found herself stumbled back from another. The spiked ends of the trident snapped past her, snagging on her cape and pulling. She lurched away, tried to saw through the fabric.

Mephistopheles smirked and yanked the trident up.

She scrabbled at the clasps at her throat, finally worked them loose. Breathing hard, she jumped away as the trident came smashing down again. A jet of flame roared past her head, and she heard the arch-devil grunt as Devil's Bane thudded into him.

The cobbles beneath her were warm, and every breath was hot and scoured down her throat. The leaping flames lent everything a disturbing infernal edge, she noted. _Fitting, I suppose_. She levered herself up again, in time to see Valen launching at the arch-devil.

The flail whirled around, smashing against Mephistopheles' muscled torso. He staggered, but the flail had not broken his skin. _How strong is he?_ Jaiyan thought helplessly. She had seen Valen take down balors with three swings of that flail, and yet the arch-devil dripped blood from a single scrape.

_Guess this is going to take a while. _

_If we survive_.

She hovered, not quite seeing enough space to dive in. Valen blocked the downswing of the trident, and she saw him shudder as he strove to hold the arch-devil off. Acid spells splashed against Mephistopheles' throat and chest. One huge arm descended, his curled fist slamming against the tiefling's breastplate.

Valen staggered, and Jaiyan saw the blood drain from his face. He dragged the flail up, a second too late.

The trident snapped around, driving against his chest. Valen stumbled, and tripped as the arch-devil's tail lashed out. The flail spun out wide, scraping against the cobbles.

_Oh, no you do not,_ Jaiyan thought fiercely. _That's my tiefling, and no one gets to hurt him_.

Half wondering exactly what she was thinking, she hurtled into the gap between the arch-devil and the fallen tiefling. Sword raised and shield braced, she stood over Valen and glared up into Mephistopheles' eyes.

The arch-devil laughed. "So brave, little one. So brave and so foolish."

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Imloth chewed on bruised knuckles as he watched the clerics. Two of them, both drow, leaned over the Seer amid the chaos in the infirmary. The air tasted of sickness and spilled blood and the tang of magic, and wounded men writhed on pallets. Healers crouched beside them, while clerics rushed in with new batches of potions. Through the windows, he could see light flaring as firespells rushed down onto the tavern.

On the pallet in front of him, the Seer lay face-down, bare to the waist. An hour or so ago, the healers had removed the spear, and now the wound was bandaged and cleaned. One of the healers, the male one, kneeled on her left and spread his hands over her lower back.

And, watching, Imloth felt the unmistakeable prickle of jealousy. _They_ were touching _her_. He knew it was necessary, knew that this was the only way to have her helped, and healed, and better. But the simple, innocent sight of the other male's hands against her naked skin raised an ugly, unfamiliar feeling.

_A feeling that made him want to shove the healer away_.

_Don't be stupid_, he thought. _She needs help. _

He raked a hand through his hair. He ached all over, and his side was a mass of pain after a spear had sliced past him, half an inch too close for comfort.

He had made it to the tavern door amid bedlam, as fireballs thundered down, and Durnan's men screamed for help. He had ordered clerics outside to help with counterspells, and had seen the sudden looks of _helplessness_ on the faces of his drow when he stepped inside, the Seer cradled in his arms, and bleeding onto the floor.

_She was never meant to get hurt_, he thought desperately. _She was the Seer. She stood for everything they fought for in Lith My'athar. _

White light flared from the healer's fingers, and the Seer twisted. He should be back outside, he knew, or on the roof with the sentries, or helping Mhaere in the yard. _Anything but standing here watching_.

He was a soldier, and would be of far more use to _her_ outside than standing around here with nothing to do but fret. But when he had stumbled into the inn, and realized that his armour was soaked with her blood, and that she barely breathed, his mind had gone flat with panic.

Something heavy slammed into the front wall, and the timbers groaned. Imloth ignored the shouts of the men by the door and looked instead at the Seer's face. Turned against thin pillows, her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and even.

Another wash of white light from the healer's hands, and the other drow nodded crisply. "I imagine she will be alright."

"You _imagine?_"

"Commander," the drow said heavily. "There are many wounded. You know she would wish them taken care of as well."

"Yes, but…" Imloth shook his head. "She took a spear to the _back_."

"I know. The wound is clean, and the muscles have knitted. Right now, she needs sleep and peace, and healing potions when she wakes."

"And if she doesn't get that?"

The other drow shook his head. "Commander, please. I have…there are many wounded."

Imloth realized he was gripping the healer's wrist. "I'm sorry. I…I'm sorry."

He let go, and crouched beside the Seer again. The bandages were clean, he noted, and her skin was not thick with fever-sweat. He reached out and shakily touched the strands of white hair that had escaped from her braids. A hail of arrows clattered against the front wall of the tavern, and he heard more screams. He trailed the tip of one shaking finger down her cheek. He had never seen her so vulnerable. He remembered Valen's face, thinking that Jaiyan had been trapped in the temple when it collapsed. _Is this what he felt like? This terrible helplessness?_

_And Jaiyan, leaning over Valen outside the Valsharess' fortress. _

He had seen the tiefling fall, and the sudden horror that ripped through him was unexpected and shocking. Yes, the tiefling was a friend, but he was schooled to keep emotion in check, especially on the battlefield.

Footsteps rang against the floorboards behind him. "Imloth?"

He turned, saw Durnan. "What's happened?"

"What the hells are you doing inside?" the innkeeper demanded.

Without speaking, Imloth stepped aside, revealing the Seer.

"Oh." Durnan coughed. "How is she?"

"The healers think she'll be alright."

"Right." Durnan scrubbed a hand across his forehead. "You have to get up on the roof."

"What? Why?"

Durnan grinned wearily. "You'll not believe this. There's someone up in the courtyard, facing off against the arch-devil."

"What? Who would be mad enough to…?"

"Don't know. Come up and see."

While Durnan turned away, and shouted at his sentries to block the doorway more securely, Imloth glanced back down at the Seer. She shifted slightly, and her fingers brushed his hand. Her lips moved, and he knelt beside her. "What is it?" he asked carefully.

"Hope," she said, in that same dazed tone. Her millpond eyes opened properly, lit on him.

"What does that mean?"

The barest hint of a smile touched one corner of her mouth. "If I tell you, you won't believe me."

He recalled her dreams, and how she had seen Valen and Jaiyan and the kobold, surrounded by snow. "Try me."

"Later." Her fingers tightened on his wrist, and he leaned in over her. "Durnan needs you."

He kissed her forehead, and then her mouth, forgetting himself and the others around him. "Wait for me," he said, softly.

He disengaged himself reluctantly from her, and trailed the innkeeper up to the roof. The air was hot and scorched, and the edges of the roof were seared black. Smoke rose up from the street below, followed by the whine of a cold spell, roaring up to meet an incoming hail of fire arrows.

"Look, there."

Imloth peered through the haze and past the commotion in the street. Further away, where the square opened up properly, he could see Mephistopheles. Moving frighteningly fast for a creature of that kind of bulk, the arch-devil swept to one side. His wings stretched taut above him, and fire spat from his trident. On the cobbles in front of him, three figures. Imloth could barely make out details, saw only that one was tall and broad, the next much smaller, and the third tiny and darting. "What..?"

"Who the hells are they?" Durnan shrugged. "Though, have to admit, if they want to go up against that thing, they've got my blessing."

Flamelight from burning buildings around the square sent the shadows wheeling. Orange flared down the length of the arch-devil's trident, and Imloth saw the biggest figure strike up with a flail.

_A flail. _

"Oh, no. No…can't be." He squinted through smoke, and saw the light glint against green armour as the figure jumped aside. The trident plunged down after, biting into the cobbles.

"Can't be what?"

Imloth shook his head. "Coincidence. What do you want to do?"

"I say we get out there and keep the rest of the arch-devil's servants from bothering them."

In the flickering dark, waiting and watching silently, Imloth saw devils with upraised swords. There were pit fiends among them, tall and haughty, their arrogant gazes leveled at their master as he fought.

Cold fear pricked at Imloth's spine. "There's a lot of them."

"Yes. But those lunatics out there might get lucky, and if they do, there's a lot of back-up waiting."

Imloth swallowed. _Was this what she meant by hope? A stray thought amid despair? Firelight against green armour, and you think Valen's alive?_

_Plenty of men wear green armour. _

_But what if she was right, and what if the arch-devil fell, and what if those attacking him were in turn cut down by his followers?_

He shook himself. "Very well," he said unsteadily. "Tell me what you need."

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The arch-devil's wings snapped out, and the eyes below blazed furiously. White light burrowed against his shoulders, small, stabbing lances. The trident spun round again, connecting against Valen's flail. The tiefling wrenched, disengaging and moving on in the same motion. He dived below the next swoop of the trident and landed a hefty blow against the arch-devil's left leg.

Mephistopheles staggered back. He sank onto one knee, and his whole frame shook as another strike from the flail thumped into his chest.

Jaiyan, watching, saw the arch-devil smile. "Valen," she called. "Move, he's going to…"

The trident flipped and thrust forward, the points digging in under Valen's breastplate. The tiefling stumbled, and snarled something. He hurled himself backwards, and Jaiyan saw blood leak from under his armour.

A roaring tangle of energy left Deekin's fingers, skittered against the arch-devil's wings. He straightened up, batting at the spitting sparks. Jaiyan reached Valen, saw him swaying. "Valen! Valen, are you alright?"

"Yes," he grated. "I'm fine."

She glanced down. "You're not. You're gushing. Get back and get a potion down you."

The tiefling drew breath to argue, but the trident plunged down again. Valen grabbed her, wrenching her aside as Mephistopheles' tail whipped out. The tiefling dropped and rolled, carrying her with him. He shoved her away as the huge wings swept down. One huge clenched fist followed, hammering against Valen's breastplate and knocking him back again.

Hitting the ground hard, Jaiyan lurched back up to her feet. Beneath her leathers, she was sticky with sweat, and her lungs ached. The smoke was thick and bitter in her throat, and her instinctive deep breaths left her coughing. She looked up in time to see the end of the trident, swinging at her.

She dropped and flung the shield up, and winced at the impact. Another blow against the shield buckled her knees and almost sent her sprawling. She blinked up through the smoke and saw the arch-devil smile again.

_That smile. Gods, I hate that smile. Wouldn't mind slapping it off his face. _

Mephistopheles' other hand lunged for her, and she flung herself away desperately. She spun and sliced out with her sword, and heard him grunt as the blade slashed across scarlet flesh. Thick drops of blood sizzled against the cobbles, and she found herself grinning. _I guess devils bleed too, if you hit them hard enough. _

The haft of the trident smacked into her side, and she doubled over, gasping. _Why the hells didn't I see that coming? _

Somehow, she forced herself up onto her knees, kept going. She vaguely heard Valen's shout to keep low, and wondered why. The trident whirred over her head, followed by a gout of flame. Valen crashed into her, dragged her underneath.

"Stay down," he snapped in her ear.

He was up again in a bare instant, vaulting over her and dodging past the arch-devil's tail. She saw him dart past the trident, and behind Mephistopheles. The flail snapped out and slammed against the back of the arch-devil's calf muscle, and he faltered. Blood sprayed as Valen yanked the flail free, and Mephistopheles groaned.

_He's bleeding properly_, Jaiyan thought frantically. _Just hit him again, get him staggering…_

But Mephistopheles whirled, and the trident swung, and the haft swept Valen's feet out from under him. The arch-devil towered over him, and the ends of the trident flashed down. Valen rolled madly away, and cried out when the trident stabbed down into his leg.

The arch-devil jerked the trident free, and Jaiyan swallowed when she saw blood fly. She shot past the tiefling, sword raised, and glared up into Mephistopheles' face.

"Admit it," she shouted up at him. "It's me you really, really want to kill again."

The trident lowered, and the arch-devil smiled. "Ever so perceptive, little one. Perhaps you will indulge me again."

Behind her, Valen made it shakily to his feet. She saw more blood shower down as he shifted gingerly. Deekin hurried across, already holding out a healing potion, throwing it into Valen's outstretched hands.

"Perhaps," Jaiyan answered. "Perhaps you could answer a question for me."

"Out of respect only for those who are about to fall," the arch-devil answered with a malevolent smirk. "What do you wish to know?"

Valen drained the bottle.

"Well, how do you think we got back here?"

"Should I care?" The arch-devil shrugged, and his massive shoulder muscles rippled. "I suspect you bribed someone, or killed someone, or maybe even stumbled across some portal somewhere through stupid luck."

"Actually, we happened upon an old acquaintance of yours." Jaiyan grinned back at him, all teeth. "You probably don't remember her, but….we found her all encased in ice, poor woman."

The arch-devil's eyes darkened. "_Her_," he spat. "You went to _her?_"

"You're so prickly." Out of the corner of her eye, she Valen nod. "Touched a nerve, have I?"

Mephistopheles screamed, and fire erupted from his trident. The air in front of Jaiyan shimmered as she dove madly under the jet of flame. Valen leaped past her, and his flail smashed against the trident and locked.

_One mistake_, Jaiyan thought grimly. _One mistake and we're dead. _

_But when has that ever been different? _

A shower of scarlet energy burned against the arch-devil's wings, and he swayed back a pace. Devil's Bane thunked against his side, and Valen followed up with another two strokes, landing one after the other against his chest.

_Well, before, it wasn't an arch-devil. _

She steeled herself, tried to ignore the sting of smoke at the back of her throat. Another explosion of energy from Deekin's outstretched hands, digging against the side of the arch-devil's neck. Valen raced past Mephistopheles' wings, his flail spinning out towards the creature's back.

Jaiyan launched forward, trying not to think. She dodged a blow from one huge clenched fist. The creature's tail lashed out, snapped into empty air. Fire gushed from the trident again, and she rolled under it. Half certain her eyebrows must have been singed, she kept moving. The trident chopped down again, cracking against her shield. The collision shook her whole frame, and her fingers felt numb. Stumbling, she looked up in time to see the trident moving again. The haft slammed into her stomach, winding her, and she found herself on her back. Gasping raggedly, with pain a low thrum somewhere inside her body, she stared up at the clear black sky, and saw the full moon above.


	52. Chapter 52

_**Chapter Fifty-Two - Brimstone**_

Imloth ducked a volley of black arrows, vaulted back up to his feet and crashed shoulder-first into an undead drow soldier. Half-certain he _knew_ him, he tried not to look too hard at the drow's narrow face, and instead spun around and lunged again. His sword sank into the drow's side, and the crimson eyes rolled up. _Jarfryn_, he thought madly. _His name was Jarfryn, and I taught him how to use a bow in close quarters. _

He risked a quick look back down the street, saw that his three remaining wizards trailed him, along with two clerics. The barricades loomed up ahead, swamped on the opposite side with drow.

_Somehow, we have to get through them, to the square, and help hold off the arch-devil's infernal followers. _

_All while staying alive._

Nathyrra eeled in beside him, glanced at the barricade. "Are you going first, or should I?"

He saw her sly smile and wished he felt the same. "I'll go," he muttered. He looked back, saw Durnan among his drow. He raised a hand to signal, and an arrow screamed out of the flickering darkness, clipped the innkeeper's upper arm.

Durnan snarled an obscenity and staggered. His leathers were torn, blood leaking through beneath.

Imloth slid past two of his soldiers, paused to rake his sword across the throat of an attacking drow. He reached the innkeeper, propped him up as he swayed. "How bad is it?"

"Open to the bone," Durnan gritted. He clamped his other hand over the wound and hissed between his teeth. "Bloody useless."

"Get back inside," Imloth snapped over the roar of battle.

"No, I need to…"

"Get back inside," the drow said again. "You're bleeding all over the street."

Durnan glanced down, saw blood ribboning his hand, dripping. "Have it your way. But so help me, you'd better get those pit fiends down, or I'll…"

"Yes, yes. Go. Now." Imloth turned him, shoved him back through the heaving press towards the inn door. "Make yourself useful."

Durnan glared over his uninjured shoulder. "Damn you."

Imloth grinned to himself, stayed poised long enough to see the innkeeper hammer on the door and gruffly demand to be let back in. Then he glided back through the chaos until he found Nathyrra, breathing hard and wrenching her daggers from the fallen body of her last opponent.

He exchanged a quick look with her, gauged the distance to the barricade, and sprinted. _This is an insane tactic_, the sensible part of his mind noted. _You have no room to maneuver, there's Gods know how many of them on the other side and oh, yes. You will probably get skewered by half a dozen spears before you get across. _

Imloth shook his head and kept going. He dodged the swing of a sword, winced as three arrows whirred past his head. Heart in mouth, he leaped away from the questing point of a spear. Another few steps, and he rolled beneath the sweep of another drow's blade. He came up behind him, drove his sword to the hilt in the drow's back. Barely pausing, he used the drow's toppling body to push himself up and onto the barricade. A spear flew past his ear. Very aware of how exposed he was, he launched at the next drow, cut past his daggers and killed him with a single, quick blow to the throat. He kicked another drow off the barricade, and leaped at the third.

He heard footsteps behind him, and shouts of encouragement as Nathyrra and the others followed him.

_Now all you have to do is hold them off long enough. _

Imloth tackled the third drow, pitching him off the barricade and onto the cobbles below. An elbow in the jaw stunned him, and a sword-thrust to his stomach finished him. Up on his feet as quickly, Imloth surveyed the street.

Ranks of undead pressed in on three sides, and past them, he could see the arch-devil in the square. Something moved, flickering to his left. He turned to meet his attacker's lunge half an instant too late. His sword scraped along the other drow's and juddered away. He shuddered as the point of the other drow's blade sketched a shallow gash along his collarbone, and down onto his shoulder.

A dagger arced out from somewhere behind him, embedded in the other drow's head. Nathyrra slipped past him, flung him a smirk over her shoulder. He considered shouting something sardonic, but some unspoken agreement rippled through the undead drow, and they charged.

He met them side-on, still moving. Drove his shoulder against the first, and kicked the feet out from under the second. Still beside him, Nathyrra followed up and plunged daggers into them as they stumbled and fell.

He heard the sharp whine of unleashed magic as the wizards cleared the barricade. Light flared, and lightning erupted. Coiled and snapping, the spell jagged across the attacking drow. Close enough to see them convulse as the magic tore through them, Imloth grimaced. The stink of burned flesh rose up, and he swallowed as they fell. Another deafening report cracked out, and more lightning seethed across the next rank, sizzling skin inside leather and chain.

Imloth glanced behind him and squinted as another round flashed out from the wizards' spread hands. _Oh, well done. Now you've about blinded yourself._

Blinking furiously, he peered past the barricade, saw Durnan's men holding the doorway, protecting the other clerics.

More lightning writhed into the assembled undead, slicing them apart like wheat in a storm. Imloth looked past them, to where the arch-devil towered, the trident in his hands spitting fire. On the ground, flitting away from each lumbering attack, he saw the trio of attackers he was certain were deranged.

White light flashed out again, sparking against swords and the arch-devil's trident, and the tallest fighter's green armour.

_No. No. Can't be_. Imloth shook his head. _Deal with pit fiends first. Think later_.

Nathyrra nudged him. "Did you see that?"

He nodded numbly. "Yes."

"What does it mean?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"It can't be…I mean, you saw him die. Didn't you?"

"The Seer did."

Nathyrra chewed on her lower lip. "What do you want to do now?"

Imloth dragged his gaze to the waiting pit fiends. "There's a lot of them."

"Arrows, then. And spells."

"Yes." He unslung his bow, turned to motion his soldiers up behind him. "Start with the nearest."

"And if they charge?" a wizard asked.

"Then we hope we can move faster than they can." Imloth unhooked an arrow, lined it up. "Aim for their eyes."

"And you actually think we'll get through this, Commander?"

"I don't think we were meant to get past Lith My'athar alive."

The wizard shrugged. "Well, when you put it like that."

Imloth pulled the bowstring taut, stared through the heat haze at the nearest pit fiend. _Why are they just standing there?_ Not wishing to chase that train of thought any further, he let the fletching brush his jaw. A second longer, while he noted the pit fiend's curling horns and broad wings, and then he fired.

The arrow sailed and slammed into the creature's jaw. The pit fiend howled, and its huge, flaming sword lifted.

"Now! Fire!"

A hail of arrows spat through the air. Some ricocheted off the cobbles, and others sank into the pit fiend's shoulders and chest. A tangle of lightning followed, crashing into the pit fiend, driving it back. Imloth drew and fired again, and the shaft punched in through the monster's eye-socket.

The pit fiend trembled and swayed, and sudden, fierce satisfaction washed through Imloth when it fell.

_Not so fearsome now, are we? _He considered that proper tactics generally helped and nocked another arrow. "Again!"

They would charge, he knew; it had to be inevitable. _But if we can cut down maybe another two or three before they do, then maybe those lunatics on the ground will get enough time to kill the arch-devil and get away. _

A second volley of arrows swept out, and another pit fiend shrieked. Lightning burst against its wings, and lit the points of the arch-devil's trident as it swept down. The haft spun and crashed against the tallest fighter's chest, and Imloth saw him stagger. Another burst of lightning seared into the shadows, and he saw that the fighter's hair was long and loose and red.

Imloth shook his head and decided never again to question the machinations of prophecy and the gods. _You could still be wrong_, the practical part of his thoughts cautioned. _Yes, but she knew something. Something that I'd never believe_.

The second pit fiend toppled, and the others roared. Flaming swords moved in unison, and Imloth's blood ran cold. _You knew this would happen. Yes, but I still don't like seeing it_.

"Hold steady," he called. "Keep firing."

Nathyrra cast a worried glance at him. "They're getting close."

"Keep firing!" He drew the shaft back to his cheekbone, realized his fingers were trembling. "Hold steady and _keep firing!_"

He loosed the string, and the arrow launched across the empty space before biting into the pit fiend's throat. Dark blood fountained, and the monster raked at the gaping wound.

But there were still more of them, lumbering across the square, ferocious eyes fixed on the attacking drow. Imloth remembered Valen briefly speaking of his time in the Abyss, of how he had faced legions of devils under charcoal skies. _Was this was it had been like? Staring straight into the eyes of creatures that graced the darkest of ballads? _

Except the tiefling was tall and broad and solid muscle, and Imloth doubted he had ever felt the merest flicker of fear in combat.

_You're a drow,_ he thought desperately. _You're not meant to feel fear either. _

Perhaps, but he was strung out and beyond exhausted. How many days had they been on the surface now, expecting each one to be the last the tavern still stood? _I'm not sure_, he realized. _Too many_. _Far too many. _

He sighted down the length of his next arrow and found himself staring directly at the pit fiend's face. With little else to do, Imloth pushed back the fluttering in his chest, drew the string tight and fired.

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Jaiyan lurched away from the trident, and swore when the arch-devil's wings swung down and buffeted her. She staggered, regained her footing. Glared up through a haze of smoke at Mephistopheles' angular, smiling face. She ached all over; her shoulder throbbed, and the arm strapped to her shield trembled. Blood tracked through her hair from a split lump on her scalp, and a long, thin gash crossed her ribs. Her forehead and cheekbones were scraped from a bad fall onto the cobbles, and she wondered if her spine would ever feel properly straight again.

On her right, Valen growled and launched himself at the arch-devil again. He was fighting with angry abandon, throwing himself beneath the trident and landing powerful blows against Mephistopheles' chest and legs, driving him back.

_But they never seemed to be enough_, Jaiyan thought frantically. _Doesn't matter how many times Devil's Bane smacks into him, he keeps standing there. _

The tiefling's breastplate was dented, and blood ran from the junction where his armour met his clothes. An ugly gash bled too freely on his thigh, spoiling his movements. Just behind him, with his hands shimmering as he called another spell, Deekin was equally battered and bruised. Blood streaked his arms and shoulders, and the arch of his wings looked tattered.

The arch-devil spun, frighteningly fast, and the trident knocked Valen off his feet again. Mephistopheles' foot slammed down onto the tiefling's wrist, pinning the flail.

_Oh, no, you don't_. Jaiyan darted forward, heart thumping. Valen tried to wrench free, but the arch-devil just drove the blunt end of the trident against his breastplate, trapping him.

_Can't get between them_. Without thinking, she dropped her sword, drew her dagger. The arch-devil peered down at Valen and leaned on the trident. She saw his face crease with pain.

Unbidden, the memory rose up in her mind, of Drogan having her banned from supper until she appreciated the usefulness of knowing how to throw a knife properly. She had whined, to no avail, she remembered. Drogan had stood outside in the billowing snow with her, watching as she threw again and again at some poor inoffensive wooden post.

_"Not until you hit that dead-on ten times in a row," the dwarf snapped when she moaned that she was hungry, that her hands were going numb. "Now step to it, missy." _

Furiously, Jaiyan flung the dagger.

End over end, it snapped through the smoke until the point sank into the arch-devil's eye.

Mephistopheles roared. His hands flung up, and he scrabbled at the blade. Hot blood gushed down his face. He yanked the dagger out and heaved it away.

Valen grasped his flail, rolled back up onto his feet. Blood spattered the cobbles near him as he whirled Devil's Bane. The twin heads smashed against the arch-devil's chest, breaking the skin, and he staggered.

Lightning flared overhead, and Jaiyan noticed drow on the other side of the square, fending off the remaining pit fiends. _Hang on…weren't those drow fighting _for_ Mephistopheles? _

Arrows sprouted from one pit fiend's chest and throat, and it screeched as it collapsed. White fire jagged out and seared across it's huge frame as it fell.

Mephistopheles roared again, and she heard the agony in his voice. _So, he does hurt, after all. _He turned, sweeping his wings at Valen. The tiefling leaped back, and the arch-devil turned, following him. The trident stabbed down, clanked against the flail.

Presented with the solid muscle of the back of the creature's legs, Jaiyan stared. _By fighting dirty_, Deekin had said. _Why the hells didn't I think of this earlier?_

The flail spun up again, wrapping around the trident. Mephistopheles snarled and yanked, and Valen stumbled. The trident whipped around, and the tiefling barely parried in time.

Jaiyan edged past the arch-devil's lashing tail. She had already been tipped onto her back twice by the creature's tail, and had no desire to repeat the experience. A quick glance showed Mephistopheles still furiously hammering the trident down at Valen, while the tiefling used his flail like a quarterstaff and blocked with the haft.

She flipped her sword around in her hand, gritted her teeth, and slashed the back of the arch-devil's heels open wide. Tendons and muscles sheared apart, and the arch-devil swayed. His head tipped back, and he howled. Blood welled, and Jaiyan jumped back as he toppled.

He hit the ground hard, and his tail thumped against the cobbles. Jaiyan inched around in front of him, watched him warily over the point of her sword. His broad chest heaved, and the glare he gave her from his remaining eye was murderous.

"This is not over," the arch-devil spat. "Even if I die here, my soul returns to Cania."

"Good for you. You can have yourself a snowball fight with the devil of your choice once you get home."

"I have many allies across the planes," he grated. Blood snaked past his mouth, dripped onto his shoulders. "This year or the next, you will die."

Jaiyan lowered her sword. "But _you_ won't be there to see it. Shame, isn't it?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, and groaned when his legs proved unable to take his weight. "Damn you, mortal."

She shrugged. "Hey, I've already been to the hells and back."

Mephistopheles snarled. He dragged a slow, agonized breath in between blood-covered lips. "Finish it, then."

Jaiyan glanced across to Valen, who nodded back to her. He loosened his grasp on the flail, and the twin heads clattered together. Devil's Bane whirled up, and she saw Mephistopheles smirk.

_What is he thinking?_

Jaiyan flinched when he wrenched the trident up, batting the flail aside. One huge fist swung out, crashing against Valen's temple and sending him sprawling. Hissing with the pain, the arch-devil levered up onto his knees. The trident came down again, chopping through Jaiyan's shield and into her side. The three points dug in and wrenched down.

She screamed and lurched back, tearing herself free. The pain was shocking, and robbed her of clear thought. Her eyes were flooding, and she wondered why her knees shook.

A tall, red-haired blur hurtled past her. A whirlwind of motion followed, too fast for her tired gaze. The flail snapped up again and again, slamming against the arch-devil's throat and face. The spines raked across flesh and skin, and she heard Mephistopheles shriek. The noise was curiously wet-sounding, she noted. A fifth and sixth time, the flail rose and fell, and the arch-devil's cries cut off.

The air was hot, and stank of brimstone and blood. Jaiyan stared through the smoke at the fallen body of the great arch-devil. The slabbed muscles on the creature's chest were stilled, the clawed hands loose against the ground. Her gaze reached the red pulp that was left of his face and head, and her stomach flipped.

Jaiyan glanced down at her hands, saw that her fingers shook around her sword hilt. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and blood from the scrape on her forehead stung her eyes. She turned slowly, as if she moved through deep, cold water. The sword clattered onto the cobbles, and the shield strapped to her other arm seemed cast in lead. She toppled onto her knees, jarred herself as she hit the ground hard. The sound of her own breathing seemed harsh and deafening.

"It's alright." Hands came down on her shoulders, steadying her. And then Valen was kneeling in front of her, his arms around her. "Beloved, it's alright. It's over."

She dragged her head up, gazed through glassy eyes at him. "Over?" She struggled to find more words, to tell him how surprised she was that she was still alive, how glad she was that _he_ was.

But darkness rushed up before she could speak, and she collapsed against him.

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Valen caught her, held her gently while her head lolled against his shoulder. He could smell sweat and desperation and blood on her. One side of her leathers was soaked, he realized with a jolt of fright. He had seen the trident slice down, had seen her expression of raw pain. He loosened the buckles on her shield, let it fall. He gathered her against his chest, pushed clumsily back up to his feet. He glanced across, saw Deekin watching, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"

The little kobold nodded breathlessly. His wings were ragged and scorched at the edges, and blood stained the front of his tunic. "Deekin thinks so. Is Boss alive?"

"She's badly hurt." Valen glared through the haze and smoke, and scowled when he saw two more pit fiends on the other side of the square. His eyes widened as he noticed drow circling them, arrows lined up and wizards behind, their fists crackling with magic. "Drow..?"

Deekin shrugged. "Deekin thought drow were working for big red devil."

"So did I." Valen holstered his flail with one hand, kept Jaiyan balanced with his other arm. Deekin picked up her dropped sword, and they picked their way across the cobbles. The street leading down to the tavern was packed with the dead, the tiefling saw, while more drow stood on watch.

Flames still licked across gables and the slants of roofs, uncomfortably close. Valen wondered how much of the city still stood, and how much might be burned by the time the sun rose.

One of the pit fiends toppled slowly, bristling with arrows, and with smoke rising from its blistered skin.

A drow fighter flitted away from its falling bulk, and Valen stared. White hair snapped across the drow's narrow shoulders, braided at his temples with leather. Flamelight flickered across his severe profile, lighting pale eyes and even teeth. "Imloth..?"

The drow skidded around, and the bow in his hands lowered. Incredulous, Imloth gaped at him. "I thought it was you…I saw your armour."

Valen stared some more, then found himself laughing. "How…how are you here?"

"How am _I_ here?" Behind Imloth, his soldiers rounded on the last pit fiend. "_You_ died. How are _you_ here?"

Valen shrugged. "Long story."

"Same here." Imloth grinned. "Good to see you, Valen."

A thousand questions rushed into the tiefling's mind. _Who else was with him? What had happened at the Valsharess'_ _fortress? What of the Seer? What had happened to Lith My'athar? What the hells was Imloth doing on the surface?_

Imloth's gaze fell on Jaiyan's limp form. "She's hurt?"

"Yes."

"Get her down that street, into the tavern. There's healers, and help. Ask for Durnan, the innkeeper."

"_You've_ been at the tavern?"

Imloth tilted his head. "Yes?"

"Never mind." Valen sighed. "I want every detail later. Imloth?"

"Yes?"

"Glad you're alive."

Imloth smiled again before turning back to his drow as they ringed the last, staggering pit fiend. Valen strode past him. The strange, almost uplifting wonder at finding Imloth was fading as he gazed down at Jaiyan. _Stay breathing for me. You have to. _

Deekin scurried to keep up. "We gots to convince innkeeper that you not be henchman of big red devil."

Valen scowled. "I'm not entirely sure I have the patience for humans who think I'm dangerous right now." He shifted Jaiyan in his arms, turned her face against the crook of his shoulder. She was ashen, her hair raked loose of its ties over his elbow, her lips slack.

Down the street, smoke poured up from the stables behind The Yawning Portal. He could hear men running, calling for more water to tame the fire. In no mood for diplomacy, Valen kicked the main door open and stalked in.

The taproom seemed to be doubling as an infirmary. Injured men twisted and moaned on sweat-soaked pallets. There were drow as well, he noticed, some carrying healing potions, other bandaging wounds. The air was heavy with the smell of sickness and blood. Valen glared through the haze from the crackling fire, and shouted, "Durnan? Are you here?"

At the far end of the room, a broad-shouldered, grizzled-looking man straightened up from where he had been tying off the end of a row of stitches. His upper left arm was swathed with bandages, and his eyes were hollow with exhaustion.

"You're looking for me?" He stepped around the pallets, approached the new arrival. He stopped short and flinched when he saw Valen's tail, lashing angrily.

Valen growled as he saw the blood drain from the man's face. "_Yes_, I'm not human. _No_, I mean you no harm. And I need somewhere for Jaiyan to rest."

The mention of her name banished Durnan's fear. He moved closer, eyes on the limp shape in the tiefling's arms. "But she…she was dead?"

"Yes. We all were."

"Imloth said she was dead," Durnan repeated, dazedly.

Deekin bounced up and down furiously. "Innkeeper! Boss be hurt and big red devil be dead and Boss need help _right now!_"

"Deekin?" Durnan stared down at the kobold and blinked. "The arch-devil's dead?"

"Deekin just says that!"

"Right." Suddenly all business, Durnan motioned to the stairs. "There's a room still empty at the end of the corridor. Take her there, and I'll be up in a moment."

"Thank you." Valen wove his way through the pallets, Deekin pattering at his heels. He found the room, laid Jaiyan on the bed inside.

While he straightened her arms and legs, Deekin hopped up onto the casement. "Goat-man be staying with Boss?"

"Of course," he replied absently. He forced his cramped, tired hands to move, to unfasten her dirt-caked bootlaces.

The door opened behind him, and Durnan stepped inside, arms laden with cloths and a bowl of water, candles and a few healing potions. "How bad is she?"

Quietly impressed, that the innkeeper had not demanded further proof of his friendly intentions, Valen did not look up. "Her side. Her leathers have kept her together, but I'm concerned that when I take it off…"

Durnan nodded grimly. "We've a few clerics left. I've asked White Thesta to come up. She's still busy downstairs, but she'll be up here as soon as she can."

Valen uncorked a healing potion, levered Jaiyan's head up with one hand. He pried her mouth open, carefully dripped the potion between her teeth. He cupped his palm over her lips, forcing her to swallow. Methodically, slowly, he worked the rest of the potion down her throat.

Watching, Durnan could not miss the naked fear on the tiefling's face as he tipped the dregs of the second bottle into her mouth. "How about you? Are you hurt?"

"No." Valen stroked her cheek, gently laid her head back down. "No, I'm fine."

The innkeeper shrugged. "You're a terrible liar. I can see the blood on you from here."

"Later," Valen snapped. "I can still stand."

Durnan must have seen the tiefling's fingers tremble as he smoothed Jaiyan's filthy hair back. "When she went down into Undermountain, all those months ago, we wondered if she'd ever come back," he said wryly. "Everything was quiet for so long. No more drow. Then suddenly…"

"The hells came to Waterdeep."

"Yes." Durnan's eyes stayed on Jaiyan as the tiefling loosened her belt and started on the clasps above.

Valen exhaled slowly as he gently peeled her leathers open. The breath hissed between his teeth as he saw the blood-sodden ruin of the shirt and tunic beneath. The blow from the arch-devil's trident had chopped through her shield, and bitten deep into her side. "Oh, Jaiyan…how are we going to get you out of this one?"

On the sill, Deekin fluttered his wings impatiently. "Boss always survives."

"Usually," Valen admitted. "I trust you met Deekin before?"

"Yes," the innkeeper answered. "But I don't think I got your name?"

"Valen." His eyes were on Jaiyan, measuring her shallow breathing. Her skin was waxen, the hollow of her throat filled with sweat. "Did you have any idea of what you were sending her into, when you called for heroes?"

"None at all," the innkeeper confessed. About to qualify, he was interrupted as the door opened, and White Thesta glided in.

Despite the chaos in the taproom below, the healer was immaculately groomed. "Ah, the adventurer returns," she commented, silken. "I wondered why the noise outside had stopped. And in the company of a kobold and a tiefling, no less." Her pale eyes flickered as she looked Valen up and down.

He growled low in his throat. "Just heal her," he said flatly.

She stepped around him, saw his tail twitch. "And so protective a tiefling as well. How interesting."

"Thesta," Durnan cut in sharply.

The healer knelt, reached out with elegant, thin fingers. She lifted Jaiyan's shirt away, bared the torn flesh beneath. The arch-devil's trident had carved three deep ditches from the base of her ribcage, curving down towards the middle of her hips.

Valen swallowed. _He almost carved her apart. _"Will she live?" he heard himself ask.

"I don't know that yet. I certainly will try to see that she does." Briskly, Thesta damped a cloth and mopped the blood away from the edges of the ugly wound. "If she wakes, I will need you to hold her down."

He nodded silently.

Thesta spread her hands over Jaiyan, hovering half an inch above the wound. Her eyes closed in prayer, and a sudden, half-unseen power rushed through her. Her skin flared, translucent with the surge of magic, and white light blazed through her fingers.

The ruined flesh beneath her hands glowed. Thrown into stark relief by the white glare, the layers of torn skin appeared chalky and strange. Jaiyan's body convulsed as the edges of the wound knitted together. Her head snapped to one side, and her eyes opened, white-ringed.

"Hold her!" the healer commanded.

Valen pressed her down onto the bed, hating the look of fear and pain in her eyes. "It's almost done," he breathed in her ear. "Hold on, my love. It's almost done."

Jaiyan tried to buck his hands off her. "It _hurts!_"

He held on tighter, locking his arms around her shoulders and chest. "I know, my love," he murmured. "I know it does."

White light flooded down from Thesta's palms. The skin beneath twisted together, melding and healing. Jaiyan flung her head back and screamed. Thesta coolly ignored her, concentrated only on the wound under her hands. Her eyes closed in a final moment of appeal, and flesh wove together, still angry red and hot.

Jaiyan sagged back under Valen's grasp, breathing hard. Her eyes slid closed as White Thesta clinically removed her hands.

"Why did that hurt her so much?" the tiefling snarled.

"The wound was very deep," Thesta answered, entirely calm. "The mending of flesh took place on many layers. Each, I suspect, hurt. She needs rest and sleep, and more of both. Let her wake on her own, and make her eat." She fixed Valen with a knowing stare. "And nothing _strenuous_ for a while. I don't want her tearing herself up inside."

Valen flushed angrily. "She will have all the time she needs."

"Good." Thesta ran a critical eye over the red, blistered marks on Jaiyan's skin. "The scars will fade, with time. If she has trouble sleeping, find me, and I'll give her something to help."

"Thank you," Valen said, grudgingly. He kept his gaze trained on Jaiyan's pallid face, one hand threaded through her hair. He heard the door close. Gently, he leaned down, kissed her forehead.

"Who is she, to you?" Durnan, still there, wringing out the blood-soaked cloths.

Valen jumped guiltily. "I thought you'd left with the healer."

The innkeeper joined him. "You didn't answer."

"Everything," the tiefling whispered.

Deekin leaped down from the casement, nodding. "Goat-man likes Boss. Boss likes Goat-man."

Durnan's brow furrowed. "_Goat-man?_"

Valen sighed, entirely resigned. He rolled his eyes, indicating his horns. "Isn't it obvious?'

The innkeeper laughed softly. "I suppose." His expression turned serious. "I'm afraid there's no extra beds, but you're welcome to stay in here with her. If you want."

Valen's eyes were fixed on Jaiyan again, but he nodded. "Thank you."

Durnan pushed up to his feet and groaned. "I'll have some food sent up for you."

"Innkeeper be gone this time," Deekin announced as the door closed. "But Deekin still here. So don't do anything…_sloppy_ to Boss, alright?"

Valen glared. "You say that sort of thing just to rile me up, don't you?"

"Nope. Deekin _very_ innocent."

"You're not nearly as innocent as you look." Valen sighed. "Do you think…" He stopped, abruptly mortified that he was going to approach the kobold in confidence again.

"Does Deekin think what?"

"Do you think she'll stay with me? When she wakes up?"

"Goat-man _asking_ that?" His claws clicked against the windowsill. "Of _course_ Boss stays with you. Boss likes you. Besides, Boss stuck with Deekin before, and Deekin more silly than Goat-man."

Valen looked away, shamed by the kobold's strange perception. "I hope so."

"What? That Deekin _is_ more silly than you?"

"_No_, foolish kobold. That she stays with me." Exasperated, he sank onto the floor beside the bed, tipped his head back. "Now make yourself useful and go and help someone who needs it."

Deekin clacked his jaws. "Goat-man can just ask Deekin to go away, you knows."

"I was hoping to trick you into leaving, rather than being outright rude."

The kobold hopped down, padded across to the door. He paused by the frame, gave Valen a piercing, unsettling look. "Deekin helps downstairs. Just as long as Goat-man doesn't think to kidnap Boss."

Valen forced himself to open his eyes. "Kidnap her? Why exactly would I do that?"

Deekin scuffed his feet against the floorboards. "So Boss and Goat-man can be alone without Deekin."

He saw the kobold's pitiful expression, and despite everything, he could not stop himself; he laughed. "I promise I won't kidnap her. Now get out of here."


	53. Chapter 53

_Another big thank-you to everyone who's following this - there isn't much more to go now, and I can't work out if I feel good or bad about that. There's also a tiny moment in this chapter that was inspired by something BronxWench wrote to me - so thank you so much to her for putting the idea in my head. _

_**Chapter Fifty-Three – Reunions**_

Jaiyan surfaced from murky, troubling dreams to the sensation of clean sheets and warm air and the wonderful feel of someone else's heat nearby. She cracked one eyelid open, realized that her head lay on Valen's lap, and that he was propped against the end of the bed, half sitting up. She breathed in deeply, and felt the gentle pressure of his tail around her waist.

She ached, all over. Her side throbbed, the dull pain insistent and demanding. She decided drowsily that should even cataclysm arrive, and the entire world need saving, she would have to respectfully decline; nothing could inspire her to move.

She felt Valen's hand settle over her shoulder, and then she heard his voice, husky with sleep. "Are you alive?"

"Barely. Where are we?"

"Durnan's inn." Valen shifted slightly, gathered her against his chest. "You lost a lot of blood. You're not allowed to move."

She smiled into the crook of his shoulder. "Then I'll just have to rope you into service as my pillow." She blinked slowly. "We did it, didn't we?"

"Yes. We did."

"Well, you did the actual _getting_, I think."

He laughed. "I can reach further than you."

"Valen?"

"Mmm?"

She kissed his shoulder absently. "I'm never, ever moving again."

He tangled a hand in her hair. "Never?"

"Never."

"Durnan's downstairs. Imloth as well."

"Imloth?" She traced the back of Valen's knuckles, felt new, small cuts. "What's he doing here?"

"I have no idea," he answered.

"Sounds like a good story." She let go of his hand, toyed with his tail instead, squeezing and stroking.

"Oh…that's not a good idea."

She felt him shudder underneath her and smiled. "And why not?"

He groaned. "Because you're on bed rest."

"Spoilsport." She grinned and licked the spaded end of his tail.

"Wanton harpy." He caught her hands and groaned again. "Please…don't. Not unless you want to be ravished right now."

She smirked up at him. "You saw through my clever plan."

"Later," he said, smiling. "I promise. You were badly hurt. Once you've rested some more, then I will ravish you as much as you want."

She laughed. "Consider me seduced."

His face reddened. "Beloved?"

"Yes, my tiefling?"

"Would you mind if went downstairs and found Imloth?"

"Not at all." Jaiyan shifted against him, pulled his head down for a long, satisfying kiss. "If you see Durnan, ask him to send his best ale up."

Valen snorted. "No. Healing potions and water are all you get for now."

"Evil tiefling." She yelped as he grabbed both sides of her face and kissed her until she could not breathe. "Valen?"

He carefully extricated himself from under her. "Yes?"

She caught his hand before he stood. "I love you. Do you know?"

"Yes, I know." He swept his hand through her hair. "Go back to sleep if you can."

She did not let go of him. "You'll come back later?"

"Of course." He leaned down, kissed her cheeks, and her mouth. "I love you, Jaiyan. I am not going anywhere."

She finally released him, watched as he crossed the floor. Her gaze found the end of his tail, slipped up, and she smiled.

He paused at the door, turned, and grinned. "You're staring."

"I like staring at you."

He threw her a knowing smirk before stepped through the door. Left alone, Jaiyan burrowed back under the sheets. She slid her hands down her sides, found thick bandages. The simple, brutal memory of the arch-devil's trident hewing through her shield and into her body made her cringe. She recalled Valen kneeling in front of her, and the sudden, shocked look of panic on his face.

A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. "Yes?"

Durnan appeared over the threshold, his arms laded with healing potions and a tray. He looked up and grinned at her. "Your young man said you'd woken up."

Jaiyan giggled. "He's not that young."

"Seems I'm the only one around here who actually _looks_ my age, then." Durnan grunted and passed the tray across to her. "Pumpkin soup for our hero."

"Oh, you have _no_ idea how much I've been craving real food." She leaned over the tray and inhaled slowly. "And if you make any mushroom or rothe jokes, I may kill you."

"So, missy." Durnan leaned against the windowsill as she dived in with thick chunks of bread and the spoon. "Care to tell me what happened down there and why the hells your friend Imloth thought you were dead?"

"I was dead." She grinned around the spoon. "And besides, _you're_ the one with a bunch of drow in your inn."

"True enough. They came up…oh, maybe three and bit weeks ago." He shook his head. "Loosing track of time. Anyway, this young drow comes up, and my men down in the portal room, well, the beat they living hells out of him."

Jaiyan winced. "It was Imloth, yes?"

"Yes. Poor lad got kicked around something awful. Anyway, we agreed that I'd give them shelter in exchange for their help against the devils in the streets."

She spilled soup down her chin and swore. "How's the city looking now?"

"Better than it was." He shrugged wearily. "Got my men out there throwing water on anything that burns. A couple of those drow wizards as well, pitching ice spells on everything. It's not pretty, but at least it won't be alight much longer."

Jaiyan stared at the spoon. To her, Waterdeep had always been unshakably eternal somehow, always there, a great spread of glittering roofs and domes, some kind of haven when the north became too cold or too dreary. She had wanted to show Valen the river and the temples, but now she was not sure if there would be little left past rubble. She glanced across at Durnan, and something twisted in her chest; his city had been burned because _she_ had taken the Relic from Undrentide. Because _she_ had been unable to stop Mephistopheles in the Valsharess' throne room.

"So." Durnan shook himself. "Spill it, missy. Where've you been all this time?"

"In hell, actually." She mopped up the last of the soup. "Don't look at me like that," she protested when he gave her a cynical glare. "We really were. Alright, it happened like this. You know when me and Deekin went down?"

He nodded. "I remember."

"Well, we found Halaster, and he had a present for me." She leaned back against the pillows and told him how the wizard had laid the geas upon her, and how she had been whisked through the portal and into Lith My'athar. How the Seer had explained her visions, and how she had agreed to help the rebel drow. Even to her own ears, the tale sounded strange as she recounted how they had met avariel, golems, a deva, and killed a dracolich far beneath the earth.

"The Valsharess sent her troops against Lith My'athar." She swallowed, remembering the taste of ash on the air and the screams of drow soldiers as the gates broke. She described the siege that followed, and the desperate trek to the Valsharess' fortress.

"You ended up in Cania," Durnan said, incredulous after she told him about the Relic and the Reaper, and the quest for True Names. "In the Nine Hells. Good gods above, missy, you've been on quite a journey."

She smiled. "Saw some things, Durnan. Strange and terrible."

"I can't…hells, I can't imagine it. What was it like?"

"Cold. Very cold." She went on, told him of Sensei Dharvana and the Sleeping Man, and the ghost of Aribeth de Tylmarande, locked in ice. The endless drudgery of marching through the far wastes of Cania, and the Knower of Places, and finally the Knower of Names. "And that, as they say, is that. You know the rest."

Durnan rubbed at the back of his neck. "So. Your young man. He's a tiefling, yes?"

"Oh, my goodness. I'll have to tell him the horns and the tail give him away."

Durnan glowered at her. "Watch that tongue, missy."

"Sorry, Durnan." She grinned unapologetically at him. "Yes, he's a tiefling. Temper to match his hair."

"What's his story?"

"He was with the drow. Came from the Abyss. Born in Sigil."

Durnan blinked slowly. "That's…interesting."

"You asked."

"Get on well, do you?"

She giggled again and tried to banish all sorts of inappropriate thoughts. "Yes. Very. Though I have to admit, the first time we met, he held a knife to my throat."

The innkeeper sighed. "He was beside himself when he brought you inside."

She bit her lip. "I know. We've…been through a lot lately."

"Cania and the Underdark." Durnan sighed and shook his head. "Look, missy…I'm sorry. I never thought…hells, I never _dreamed_ I'd be sending you down into something like that."

"It's alright," she said, softly. "Besides, now I have a kobold _and_ a tiefling."

He gave her a sharp look. "You like him every bit as much as he likes you."

"Yes," she answered honestly. "Yes, I do. Is that strange?"

"No. Hells, Mhaere swore blind she never wanted to be within three feet of me when we started adventuring together. She was a paladin and had some higher calling that did not include sparring with the local boy." He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Granted, not a knife to the throat, but there was that time she threatened to hit me with a pan…"

Jaiyan laughed. "She is alright, isn't she?"

"Yes. She and Tamsil both." Durnan leaned his elbows on his knees. "Lost a lot of men, though. Your friend Imloth did, too. Most of them, in fact. There's but him, his Seer, and a bare handful of fighters and clerics."

"He's a good man." She frowned. "Drow. Whichever." She tried to lever up on one elbow and winced as the room seemed to lurch. "Oh…that's not very good."

"You're worn out, missy." He hooked up a healing potion, snapped the cork out. "Drink this, and then sleep."

"I've been sleeping for ages."

He folded her hands around the bottle. "Don't argue."

She pouted and grumbled, and obeyed. The potion slipped down her throat, bitter and somehow oily.

Durnan accepted the empty bottle from her, paused beside the bed. "You did well, missy. With the arch-devil, and coming back alive, and, well…you know what I mean."

Her throat thickened. "Well, there was that embarrassing bit where I died."

He laughed. "You did well. That's all there is to it. Now go to sleep before I send your young man up to smother you with a pillow to make sure you're quiet."

Durnan patted her hand, and her vision blurred. "Go on, get out of here," she muttered heavily. "I'll emerge when I get hungry."

She heard him laugh again, and then his footsteps as he left her alone. She blinked rapidly and wondered if the exhaustion and sheer shock of having _won_ was making her maudlin. _Not usual, to be getting weepy over Durnan and his attempts at compliments. Maybe that trident hit your head as well and you just didn't notice. Either that or you just need a stiff drink. _

_But no, not with a tiefling nursemaid._

Jaiyan brushed away the mortifying evidence of tears and grinned to herself. Maybe it would be worth forgoing the odd tankard to keep him smiling. She eased herself back under the sheets and let her thoughts drift lazily. There would be still be much to talk about, she knew, but for now, she was content with resting and plotting exactly what she wanted to do to Valen once she was healed.

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Downstairs, Valen sat in what had been the parlour, listening as Imloth described how the drow had left Lith My'athar and ventured up towards the surface, and The Yawning Portal. On the low divan beside the drow, the Seer slept, wrapped in loose robes. Watching, Valen noticed Imloth's hand, slender fingers twisting in the Seer's white hair.

He listened as Imloth spoke of pit fiends stalking the streets, and the distrust of surfacers, and how the Seer had dreamed of the snow.

"I didn't entirely believe it," Imloth confessed softly. "But then…I saw you. Fighting Mephistopheles. How did you do it?"

Valen grinned. "Jaiyan hamstrung him."

Imloth winced. "That sounds…."

"…Like her."

"Yes. Also painful." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "What was it like in Cania?"

"Terrible." His gaze drifted, fixed on a point on the carpet between them. "I was…frightened."

"Frightened? You?"

He glanced back up, saw Imloth observing him, his pale eyes wide with compassion. "Yes. The Blood Wars."

"Valen," the drow said quietly. "If you don't wish to speak of it, then…"

He shuddered. "Maybe later."

Imloth nodded. "I understand."

"Thank you." He made himself smile, tried to force aside the memories of the unrelenting snow and the burning rage in his blood. He glanced down again, saw that Imloth's hand was still buried in the Seer's hair. "Is there anything I should know?" he asked archly.

The drow shifted. "Oh. Yes. We…I mean, we…"

Valen laughed. "You and the Seer?"

Imloth nodded slowly. "I didn't…I mean…you know what I mean."

"I think so." The tiefling grinned again. "Did you always…like her?"

"I don't know." Imloth's gaze slipped down to her, to the deep ebony of her skin. "I mean…I don't _think_ like that. Not after…everything else that happened."

Valen understood; he remembered the practice grounds in Lith My'athar, and setting up new targets late one night. Imloth had been in a pensive mood, he recalled, and had told him in spare, chilling tones exactly what had been expected of him in the city of his birth. The tiefling knew enough about slavery to empathise entirely, but he still found the comparison strange. His own enslavement had been one of cages and locked doors and torture when he failed to please his master on the battlefield. The kind of slavery the drow had endured was different; yes, there were floggings and pain, but he lived in a certain kind of opulence, and many of the services he was forced to perform were horribly intimate in a way that had nothing to do with carnage on wastelands under skies he could not name.

"Valen?"

He shook himself free of his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just…gods, do you know how many times I thought I was going to lose her?"

Imloth shook his head silently.

"A demon in Cania." Valen laughed sourly. "Forgive me. I'm rambling."

Beside the drow, the Seer stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she fixed a piercing gaze on him. "You are doubting," she said.

He flushed. "Yes."

"The arch-devil is dead, you are returned to us, and Jaiyan is with you." The Seer straightened up, leaned heavily against Imloth. "Is there anything left to doubt?"

Valen scowled. "You don't know what happened in Cania," he heard himself saying. "You don't know what I did…"

_I tried to hurt her. I wanted to take her and kill her and see her blood on the snow._

He shivered at the sharp, searing memory. "I'm sorry. That was…unfair of me."

"No," the Seer murmured. "How is she?"

"Mending. Stubbornly, and only because she knows I'd lock her in to rest if I had to." He flicked the end of his tail against his shins and thought. "When you came up from Lith My'athar, did you know what you were going to find?"

"No," the Seer answered. "My visions were clouded and strange. Even later, when I dreamed of you and Jaiyan in the snow, I knew very little save that you were travelling somewhere."

The door opened, admitting White Thesta and a flood of flamelight. The healer's gaze flicked amusedly from Valen, and across to the Seer. "How do you feel?"

"Better," she replied. "There will be many others who need your attention. I will manage."

Thesta arched an eyebrow. "A spear to the back, and you will manage? But of course…you play with the arcane yourself, do you not?"

"Yes," the Seer said, and Valen heard steel thread through her voice. "Is there anything else?"

The healer smiled. Her wide-lashed glance moved back to the tiefling, and across again to Imloth. A teasing smile curved her lips. "Are all drow males so…striking?"

"Some are," the Seer answered with a knowing smile of her own. "This one, however, is mine."

"Ah. A pretty plaything indeed." Thesta laughed. "Taken, is he? So sad."

"Indeed. Or at least he will be again, after I heal properly." The Seer blinked innocently. "Was there anything else?"

"Oh, no. Only…your clerics have brewed up a new batch of healing potions." Thesta's attention fixed on Valen again. "So if your lady needs them, they are ready."

He nodded. "Thank you."

She paused to give Imloth another raking, impressed look. "Do you have any others nearly so arresting?"

"Feel free to look," the Seer said archly. "But please…treat them gently."

Thesta inclined her head, her smile pleased beneath a tousled fall of hair. "I certainly shall."

The door swung closed again, and Imloth gave the Seer an incredulous look. "I don't think I have _ever_ been so quietly yet vehemently defended."

She smiled, a secretive, small curling of her mouth. "Forgive me, but I find myself experiencing…what do surfacers call it? Jealousy?"

Valen smirked. "How very un-drow-like of you both."

Imloth rolled his eyes. "Says the tiefling who simmered for weeks wondering if he should approach the girl he'd fallen for or not."

"What? I did _not_."

"You did."

"I'm sure I didn't."

The Seer brushed loose white hair back from her profile. "Valen…did you wish to speak to me?"

Feeling suddenly awkward and sombre in equal measure, he shifted in his seat. "Yes…if Imloth doesn't mind?"

The drow shook his head. "Not at all. I'm sure I can find something useful to do."

"Could you…" Valen stared down at his linked hands. "Could you see if Jaiyan's still asleep? Just…make sure she's alright?"

Imloth's eyes glittered, but he made no comment. "Of course. I need to thank her, in any case."

Left alone with the Seer, the tiefling was suddenly unsure of what to say. _How do I even begin? You thought I was able to tame my heritage, push it back and keep it hidden. And all I did in Cania was hurt her again and again. _He looked into the Seer's serene face and recalled how she had never once judged or accused. _Never, not even when you arrived at Lith My'athar, with only the memory of being summoned to fight _against_ her. _

She did not speak, simply sat and regarded him, her hands clasped on her lap.

"Did you…did you hear what I told Imloth?"

"Most of it," she said. "I know you went to Cania, and had to discover some way to leave."

"Yes. True Names…we had to find True Names." He glared down at the carpet and remembered the harsh, driving cold of the wastelands. "There were devils. Even when we were in the city, at the tavern, I could feel it."

"The Blood Wars."

"Yes. It was…like the drums I used to hear. Just…in my blood. It seemed so obvious. I needed to kill things, and hurt things." He shuddered. "Seer…I hurt her. I hurt her so many times." His voice wavered. "I…Gods, I made her _bleed_."

She watched him silently, not condemning.

"I tried to…I wanted to have her under me, screaming." Every word seemed cast in stone, ground out and full of anger. "I wanted to kill her."

"What happened?"

"The first time, she hit me." He laughed bleakly. "Got a vicious punch to her. She kicked me off her and hit me again. The second time, I choked her and she said my name. She said it over and over again. The third time, I nearly tore her throat out. I ran out into the night, and do you know what she did?"

The Seer shook her head.

"She came after me." He smiled helplessly. "Stupid, stubborn girl…she came after me."

"Valen," the Seer said, "Whatever you _wanted _to do, you _did not_. Do you understand that?"

"I wanted her _dead_," he whispered.

"And now?"

"I'm afraid that she'll tell me exactly what she should." He shook her head. "Why should she keep me?"

"Because you fought it. Because you ran out into the night. Because you might have _wanted_ to, but you did not." The Seer's pale eyes bored into him. "Valen…you are not a monster."

"Go up to her room," he snapped. "Ask to look at the marks on her throat. I _scarred_ her."

"Stop," the Seer said gently. "These are fears and doubts. You are no longer in Cania. You do not need to hate yourself."

"I…" He drew in a trembling breath. "It was like I was back in the Abyss. I kept expecting to wake up in that cage again."

The Seer crossed the floor and clasped his face in her hands. "Stop," she said again. "Do you really intend to make me think that you are losing yourself to your own hatred?"

"No, I…"

"Valen. I have not seen you like this since you came to Lith My'athar." She searched his face anxiously, her fingers gentle against his chin. "You are living, both of you. You have each other. Cania is behind you."

"Yes, but…"

"But nothing." She smiled and kissed his forehead. "Go upstairs and talk to her."

"She's resting," he muttered. _Why are you avoiding this? _He thought desperately. _Because you're afraid of what she might say? _"She needs sleep."

The Seer frowned at him. "Valen, the woman I saw in Cania would not hate you for waking her to talk about such things."

"But I…"

"No." She touched his cheek. "I will brook no argument. _None_. I will walk you up those stairs myself, if I have to. So I suggest you go, now, before I embarrass you thoroughly."

Feeling utterly rebuked, Valen flushed. "Seer?"

"Yes, Valen?"

"About Imloth…"

"Yes?"

He looked up into her pale eyes, and wondered what she was thinking. "When did you know?"

She laughed. "A while ago. Now stop distracting me and go."

He smiled ruefully. Unaccountably nervous, he made his way back through the taproom and up towards the stairs. Jaiyan had endured the cold, crossed Cania with him, and fought Mephistopheles. Yet the lingering fear remained, that she would no doubt come to her senses and realize how terrible the snowy wastes had been, and how much worse his treatment of her. There had been little time to talk, and less even to think, between the death of the arch-devil, and Jaiyan's injury, and he discovered that his heart was thudding too fast.

_What if she rejects you? What if she hates you?_

But he remembered her obstinacy when she had ventured out into the freezing darkness to find him, and he found himself hoping desperately that his fears would prove unfounded.


	54. Chapter 54

_**Chapter Fifty-Four – Aftermath**_

Jaiyan floated somewhere between sleep and day-dreaming. Late afternoon sunlight slanted onto the carpet, and she found herself idly watching the dust motes swirl. Imloth had dropped in with healing potions and compliments on their victory. He had looked thin and worn, but there was a strange kind of _peace_ about him. After promising to tell her his story later, he clasped her shoulder and left her to her thoughts.

The door opened again, and she blinked heavy eyelids.

Valen sat beside her and tentatively gathered her hands between his. "Jaiyan?"

She smiled sleepily. "I'm alive, I promise."

"I was wondering…can we talk?"

"Of course we can." She searched his face, saw the familiar worried creases on his brow. "What's troubling you?"

He stared down at their linked hands. "What happened in Cania."

"Oh, no. No, don't do this." She shook her head at him. "Valen…am I going to have to stencil onto your skin that I _don't mind?_ Yes, it was frightening when it happened. Yes, I still trust you. Yes, I still love you. And no, I do not hate you."

His mouth clicked closed. "Am I being obvious again?"

"Very," she told him impishly. "Did you want some time to bemoan and languish, or did you just want to kiss me?"

He obliged, sealing her mouth with his and gently cupping her face. "No languishing necessary." His fingers trailed past her chin, to the fading marks on her throat. "You forgive too much."

"And you worry too much." She wriggled out of the sheets, pulled him down beside her. "You didn't really think I'd suddenly decide _now_ that I don't want you?" She curled herself against his chest, stroked until she found his heartbeat. "You _did_, didn't you?"

He said nothing.

"You're an idiot, my love." She wrapped a hand around one of his horns and held his head in place. "You're not getting rid of me so easily, so stop moping and start accepting."

"I'm not an idiot," he protested. "I just…"

"Tend to have morbid thoughts."

"No, I…."

"Expect the worst and then get all panicky when it _doesn't_ happen?"

"No, it's more that I…"

"Like sulking in anguish?"

He scowled. "Now you're making fun of me."

"Of course I am. We're safe, we're together, we've _done_ it, and you're _still_ expecting me to get up and walk out simply because you're a tiefling."

He opened his mouth, changed his mind and frowned. Then he shrugged. "Well, when you put it like that. I just…I was so afraid."

"I know," she said softly. "I was for a while as well."

His tail wound around her leg, gently kneading. "Of me?"

"In a way. More that I was afraid of what you might do. And how you'd hate yourself for it afterwards." She threaded her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the scarlet strands against her skin. "But I am certainly not afraid of you now, and nor was I before."

"I said I would protect you, not…" He shook his head. His eyes were too bright, darting away from her face. "Not hurt you."

"I know," she said again. "It's alright." _Gods, what do I have to do to make you believe me? _She stared into his troubled blue eyes and worried. "Oh, Valen." Very gently, she leaned forward, brushed her lips against his.

He shuddered, and his arms locked around her. She clasped his face in her hands and kissed him again, deep and lingering. He murmured her name, and she shivered when he found the hem of her shirt, peeled it up.

Jaiyan shifted her weight onto one elbow, tried to heave her shirt over her head. Pain shot through her side, and she groaned. "Oh, hells."

"Was it me?" Valen lifted his head anxiously. "My love?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "It's just…my side's…twinging."

He kissed her with a kind of yearning sweetness that made her ache. "Then we should wait."

"Well, what if I turned on my back, like this…"

He laughed and caught her hands. "No."

She tipped her head against his shoulder and groaned. "Life is monumentally unfair."

"I know. I think that's the point." He smoothed her hair away from her face. "Do you wish to go downstairs?"

"Maybe there's a vat of cold water I can jump into." She pulled her shirt straight and grimaced. "Sorry about that."

"Ssh. You don't need to be." He rearranged the laces at her throat. "We have time, beloved. All the time we need."

She bit her lip. Down in the Underdark, and afterwards, in Cania, the future had been such a vague, maddeningly faraway prospect. Now, sitting here with him, on the surface, a new, frustrating array of choices rose in her mind. _And you have no idea what to do first, do you,_ she thought. _Stay here? Travel? Help the city? Go to Sigil?_

Valen helped her pull her boots on, and she leaned on him as she stood. _Well, for now, how about we just go downstairs and see if any of Durnan's best kegs survived?_

He slipped an arm around her waist, and she sank back against him gratefully. Not hurrying, he guided her down the stairs, and in through the infirmary. In the parlour, they discovered the Seer and Imloth curled against each other on the divan.

Jaiyan stopped and stared. She looked accusingly at Imloth. "You never mentioned this!"

He shrugged and did not straighten up from where he sprawled with the Seer nestled against his chest. "It…didn't occur to me."

Jaiyan shook her head, exasperated. "Typical male."

The Seer smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. But alive." She let Valen propel her gently to the other side of the room. She sat beside him, her shoulder pressed against his and his arm still around her. She peered suspiciously at the two drow again. "Does everyone but me know?"

"Yes, Boss," Deekin replied from the doorway. "Deekin knows, innkeeper knows, Goat-man knows….innkeeper's wife knows. White lady cleric knows."

"I get myself injured, and no one thinks to fill me in on gossip? I'm disappointed." She grinned across at Deekin. "How are you, Master Kobold?"

"Deekin be fine." He hopped across, sat curled on the floor near her. "Though…Deekin be thinking. With new book, Deekin be thinking…"

"Yes?"

"Deekin be thinking…of maybe…_changing_ Boss's fight with big red devil."

Valen blinked. "What? Wasn't it up to your exacting standards, bard?"

"Not that…" Deekin scuffed his claws against the floor. "Just…Deekin want to write different from what Boss did. Maybe…make victory more…victorious."

Jaiyan smirked. "What, wasn't running around the back and hamstringing the bastard heroic enough?"

Deekin sniffed. "When Deekin say fight dirty, Deekin not quite mean _that_."

"Oh, fine. Next time we fight an arch-devil, _you_ can be in the vanguard."

"Deekin only trying to make book _exciting_."

She rolled her eyes at him. "On the subject of dirty fighting, do you remember how we got rid of J'Nar?"

Deekin sighed. "Deekin remembers."

Valen blinked. "This was…?"

"A half-elf half-something enchantress with a bad temper we met while dealing with Deekin's Old Master." When he nodded, she explained, "So after she unsurprisingly proved utterly treacherous, she tried to kill us. After quite a while of the two of us dodging lightning bolts and generally being run ragged, and I charged out in front of her and distracted her."

"By yelling and screaming," Deekin added thoughtfully. "Boss look _very_ strange."

"And Deekin snuck up behind her and shot her feet out from under with his crossbow. I've _never_ seen someone look so surprised."

Valen groaned. "You're ruining your heroic reputation, I hope you realize."

With a rustle of robes, the Seer detached herself from Imloth's protective embrace. She crossed the floor and said, "You are still in pain."

Jaiyan shifted uncomfortably. "I'm fine. I'm sure there's plenty of people who need spells or potions more than me."

"Don't be foolish." The Seer knelt beside her, spread a hand gently against her side. Warmth flooded her, and her flesh tingled.

She rolled her shoulder experimentally, and her side pulled and gave, muscles sliding beneath skin that moved properly.

"Let me see." The Seer lifted her shirt a few inches. With the quick, agile hands of a healer, she explored Jaiyan's flank. "No pain?"

"No."

The drow woman found the ties on the bandages, loosened them. Underneath, the skin was soft and unblemished, and Jaiyan found it suddenly hard to believe the arch-devil had tried to slice her apart mere hours ago. The Seer checked one last time before sitting back, satisfied.

"Thanks," Jaiyan muttered.

"You are most welcome." The Seer arranged herself next to Imloth again. "And may I extend my gratitude to you, for everything you have done?"

Jaiyan cringed inwardly. She had never been good or smooth when it came to accepting compliments or this kind of praise. _Sure, extol me on the virtues of my swordplay, or buy me a drink to say thank you, but don't laud me like this. _She had always been better at silently accepting a bag of gold for any efforts made, and the thought of the Seer gushing her approval made her squirm. "Thanks," she said awkwardly. "But Valen did most of the heavy hitting."

The Seer smiled knowingly. "I'm sure he did."

They whiled away the rest of the afternoon with nothing more pressing than small talk and the lazy exchanging of stories. Nothing serious, to Jaiyan's relief; never once did anyone broach the burning of Waterdeep, or the trials of Cania, or the fall of Lith My'athar. Instead, she told them of her time spent in Hilltop, while Imloth and Valen regaled her in turn with tales that mostly had to do with shouting at formerly arrogant drow recruits or that time Valen apparently forgot his own height and cracked his skull against the tavern door.

"I did _not_," the tiefling muttered.

"You did," Imloth replied, smirking. "I was right behind you. You were telling me something about how flails are generally better than bows, and you half turned around, and walked straight into the doorframe."

Jaiyan giggled. "Suitably humiliating."

"The best part was the huge purple bruise right on the corner of his forehead, and the looks he kept giving the recruits," Imloth added. "Though, as I recall, none of them were brave enough to ask him about it."

Terrible tales of subjugation and near-death at the claws of Tymofarrar from Deekin followed, though Jaiyan suspected yet again that the kobold was in fact somewhat fond of Old Master. _At least now that he's nowhere near him_. The white dragon had plotted with all the subtlety of a club to the face, and she wondered if that had been the only reason they had let him live in the end. _That and the fact he was rather bigger than you, yes?_

The fading light of the sunset painted lines on the carpet, and Jaiyan realized she was famished. As if on cue, Durnan bustled in with Tamsil trailing him, both of them laden down with plates. He waved off offers of help and muttered something about enjoying simply being an _innkeeper_ again, rather than the disgruntled defender of a city.

"And yes, missy," he added wearily. "I brought you some ale." He presented her with a large tankard and a warning that if she drank too much, he would not be held responsible.

Over venison and gravy and roast potatoes, the stories flowed on. Jaiyan learned how Imloth and Valen's first sparring match had turned out – a sprained shoulder for the drow, a punctured calf muscle for the tiefling, and a certain loss of blood and dignity for both - and how the Seer had in turn ordered all practice fights to be conducted with blunt and padded weapons.

Deekin took over again, and decided to launch into his rendition of how Jaiyan had once turned green after eating snake while in Undrentide.

"Ashara gave it to us," she protested. "I whined enough that he fed us to shut us up."

"Boss didn't ask what it was."

"No. But I didn't think it was going to be _snake_."

"Boss should've asked."

"Probably." She grimaced, noticed that everyone else seemed to be smirking at her. "I get it. You've all lived in the Underdark or the Abyss, so you're laughing at the poor, naïve surfacer girl who once ate snake."

Valen considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "You're right, my love."

"Well, what's the strangest thing _you've_ eaten?"

"You don't want to know."

Imloth opened his mouth to say something, but Jaiyan shook her head. "Don't want to know," she said. "You're going to say spider, aren't you?"

"No," he answered mildly. "But what I _was_ going to say _does_ have a lot of legs, so…?"

She shuddered. "So, I don't want to know." She speared a chunk of venison and inhaled deeply. "What about you, Deeks?"

"That fizzing water and ice….not-quite-a-drink. Tasted of lemons, Deekin thinks. Boss remembers? In the desert?"

She grinned and nodded. "They said it was called sherbet. What was wrong with it?"

"Tasted good," the kobold conceded. "But Deekin gets it up his nose too much."

Jaiyan almost choked on her ale. "I remember."

The Seer spoke then, of how she coaxed the drow in Lith My'athar to worship Eilistraee more freely; of how it was _allowed_, to speak prayers aloud in praise of Lady Silverhair. She spoke of how nerve-wracking it had been, taking down the old statues of Lolth, and having them hewn apart, and how her followers were convinced the Spider Queen would curse them for their temerity.

Through the window, the sky was dark, and Jaiyan leaned back against Valen's shoulder again. Her first tankard lay empty by her plate, and she realized with an odd shock that she had no pressing desire to run after Durnan and demand another one. Her thoughts were drifting, and the tiefling beside her was wonderfully warm. Near her ankles, Deekin dozed, and across the floor, the drow were companionably silent.

Valen's fingers brushed her cheek. "Beloved?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want to come upstairs?"

She remembered that the pain in her side had vanished, and she blinked. "Mmm. Yes." She stepped around Deekin small, curled form. "Seer, do you mind if…?"

"He can sleep in here if he wants," the drow said, answering her thoughts.

"He snores," Jaiyan warned.

The Seer smiled. "So does Imloth."

Jaiyan choked on a surprised laugh.

Beside his lover, the drow squirmed. "I…do I?"

"Sometimes," the Seer answered.

"Oh." Imloth frowned, and looked like he was trying to decide if this was a criticism or not.

Jaiyan giggled to herself as she followed Valen back out through the taproom. She caught the end of his tail, tugged to make him slow down. "I suppose Matron Mothers don't usually bother telling their prey if they snore afterwards."

Valen snorted. "No."

She slipped her fingers between his. "Did you see that coming?"

"Them? No." He paused beside the door and regarded her for a long, wondering instant. "But then, I didn't see this coming either."

She drew in a long, shuddering breath. His gaze was heavy-lidded and full of longing, and she felt the skin between her shoulders tighten. "Valen…"

He kissed her, long and slow until she moaned up into his mouth. His hands locked around her waist, and he hauled her off her feet and up against him. His tail snapped around her thigh. With one arm braced against her back, he managed to fumble the door open. She clung to him, laughing, while he stumbled in and kicked the door shut behind them.

She opened her mouth to say something silly about thresholds and carrying, but his lips covered hers again. He tasted of warmth and ale, and he groaned when she grabbed at his horns. They lost their clothes somewhere between the door and the bed, and she gasped when his bare skin finally slid against hers. His flesh was hot, almost feverishly so, and she wondered briefly if sleeping with him in the summer would be uncomfortable.

His hands descended past her waist, stroking and caressing, and her mind went contentedly blank. His tongue swept tantalizing circles around her nipples, and she moaned again. "You _tease_," she muttered.

Valen laughed. It had been long, so long since the inn room in Cania, and she was twisting beneath him. His fingers brushed the wet heat between her legs, and she arched against him desperately. His touch retreated, and she whimpered. "Valen…"

He smiled. "Be patient."

"I don't want to be patient," she protested.

He ignored her, and returned to his slow, tortuous exploration of her body. His weight was braced above her, and when she reached up to caress his chest, he pushed her back down. He trailed soft kisses up the inside of her thigh, and she was not sure if she wanted to melt or kill him.

His lips touched her shoulder as he slowly, finally slid into her, and she cried out. He murmured her name, and that he loved her. She gasped out the same, and clutched at his shoulders. She was too ready, and his first, deep thrust undid her, sent her into a shuddering climax.

Valen waited while she quivered beneath him, and smiled at her shaky, breathless apology. "Foolish woman. Did you actually just say sorry for _that?_"

She grinned. "I think I did."

He kissed her again, tenderly. Slowly, keeping his gaze on her face, he made love to her until she trembled under him again. Her hands dug into his hips, and he groaned her name as his own release took him. His head dropped against her shoulder, and she felt his breathing, warm and fast.

Her own heart was hammering, and she felt curiously unmoored somehow, floating. As soon as he rolled onto his side, she burrowed against his chest, burying her head beneath his jaw. She could feel his pulse, fluttering just beneath the skin.

"My love?" His broad hands combed through her sweat-damp hair. "Jaiyan, what is it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just…this feels good."

His tail curled around her, and he sighed against the crown of her head. "Yes. It does."

She stayed like that, pressed against him and breathing in his scent as sleep plucked at her. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"Stay here."

She felt and heard his answering laugh. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," she muttered. Her thoughts were dissolving, and she let them. She felt Valen's hands slip down to her waist. And when sleep claimed her, she dreamed of warmth, and of him, and of night skies flooded with moonlight.


	55. Chapter 55

_Sorry for the delay in posting - real life reared its head, and I figured that I'd prefer to wait and not rush this one, so here it is. Despite the title, it's actually the penultimate chapter, but still, there's little more to go, which I'm finding is a strange feeling. Of course, disclaimer still going strong. _

_**Chapter Fifty-Five – Endings**_

The days passed slowly, as the fires were finally damped, and people moved about the city in the tentative hopes of rebuilding. More survivors than Durnan had ever guessed emerged from the ruins, and, ever so slowly, as the season cooled, new planks were cut and smoothed, and scorched slabs were cleaned, and graves were dug. The merchants routes from the north and south were opened, and wary traders brought food and goods to the gates, half expecting to see nothing but burning rubble. The city guard took up daily patrols, and the great temples were turned into infirmaries and sanctuaries again.

At the Yawning Portal, Jaiyan spent those first weeks with Valen and Imloth, venturing out into the city, and discovering the sheer scope of the devastation. Mhaere and the Seer managed the foodstores, while Nathyrra and Deekin organized the moving of the human wounded to the nearest temples.

Rainclouds swept in from the north, and the weather turned cold and dreary, and the stink of ash and charcoal was finally washed away. Six days straight, the rain pummeled scorched stone and broken wood and turned mud into slush. Under pounding torrents, Jaiyan and Valen helped Imloth and the Seer bury the last of the undead drow. Durnan stamped out into the storm to offer aid, and ignored Imloth's suggestion to get out of the foul weather and back inside the tavern. Together, they heaved aside wet earth and worked through a night turned vicious with howling wind until the graves were covered over, and the dead laid to rest.

Afterwards, cleaned up and warm, Jaiyan lay curled around Valen as the window rattled and rain hammered against the panes. She had seen Imloth's face as he drove his spade into the mud, his hair sodden and his eyes hollow. The people of Lith My'athar, whom he had sworn to keep safe, veiled now in rain-wet mud on the surface. He had slammed the spade down and down again until his shoulders and hands shook, and the rain tracked down his face like tears. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"I've never…buried that many people. At once, I mean."

"No." He shifted so he could see her face. "When I was with Grimash't, we never…there was never time to bury our dead. Most of them I wouldn't have cared to bury, anyway, but…" He shook his head. "Still, sometimes I wonder. Should we have left them as they fell, or..?"

Jaiyan leaned up on her elbow, absently traced circles on his bare chest. The last weeks, they had fallen into a ridiculously easy pattern of spending nearly all of every day together. _Not that we didn't before,_ she thought. But there was something more settled about it now, about any expectation; whether she helped him and Imloth out in the city, or Durnan at the inn, he was there as the sun sank. She had never before fallen asleep with anyone on a regular basis, and part of her was secretly thrilled at how _easy_ she found it. _Yes, we slept together every night in Cania, but that...doesn't count. No real beds, in the hells...doesn't count. _

"Do you know what I really regret?"

He blinked slowly. "What?"

"When Drogan died…" She eased herself closer, sighed as she felt his arms close around her. "He…he was killed holding the portal open, so we could escape."

Even now, the recollection was sharp and painful. She closed her eyes, saw the ruins shuddering, the pillars cracking and toppling. Dust had filled the air and scoured her lungs, and she remembered Deekin shouting, pulling her towards the portal.

Braced on his knees, Drogan had held the portal, his frame shaking with the effort. And she _knew_, as she looked at him, into his set dark eyes, that he would hold the spell long enough, and then he would die. She could think of nothing to say, no words that could express gratitude or thanks, or a simple notion of regret, that he would die to save her and Deekin.

"He saved you," Valen murmured.

"Yes." She swallowed. "Yes, he did. And we stepped through the portal. And as we did it, I could hear the stones coming down behind us. He died in there. _That_ was his tomb."

Valen kissed her forehead. "A better tomb than many."

"Yes, but I think…" She sighed. "I don't know what I think. I just wish we could've buried him properly."

"I understand."

She trailed her hand down his chest, played idly with the thin trail of red hair that dipped under his waistband. "Did you see Imloth's face today?"

"Yes. And stop that, it tickles."

She grinned. "Now that you've told me that, you know I won't."

He groaned. "Cruel woman."

"Valen?"

He caught her hand. "Yes?"

"You love it really."

He laughed and rolled over, pinning her to the bed. "Maybe, but I'm still plotting some terrible revenge."

"You're a tiefling. Shouldn't take you long. Infernal blood and all that." She looked up into his face and giggled. The memory surfaced, of tumbling into bed with him some scant days past, tipsy and unsteady, and finally falling asleep next to him. She had woken with him coiled around her, his face against her breasts, and her arms around his shoulders. All had been fine until she had moved her head too quickly, and remembered that he had horns. "As long as you don't try and stab me in the face again with your horns."

He snorted. "I did not."

"You did. I nearly lost an eye."

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. "You survived."

"Barely. I'm putting it under 'perils of loving a tiefling'." She reached up, wrapped her hands around his horns. "I'm surprised you don't shred pillows."

"They're not _that_ sharp," he protested.

"Sharp enough when you head-butt them."

Valen sighed. "Jaiyan, my love?"

"Yes..?"

"Be quiet."

His mouth covered hers, and she laughed against him. Tenderly, he enfolded her in his arms, and she forgot about the rain, and the half-ruined city outside, and the newly buried dead.

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Dawn arrived, pale through curtained rain. Grey clouds still mottled the sky, and puddles gleamed across cobbles and between buildings. On the tavern roof, Imloth sat with the Seer, watching as the sun slowly rose. They had seen the moon sink away, silver falling beneath a thick wall of cloud, the stars following after.

Her head rested against his shoulder, and his arm was around her waist. The silence between them was untroubled, easy, and when he shifted his weight, she curled closer to him, turned her face against the crook of his shoulder. "Imloth?"

He nodded, said nothing.

"Have you thought about…what it is you want to do?"

He found the braided end of her hair, stroked. He knew what she meant. More than a few of his surviving soldiers had made it clear that, while they were grateful to have survived the arch-devil's attack, they had no pressing desire to remain on the surface. "I think so," he answered, a little hesitant. _What if she wants something different? _

_Well, then you'll let her go, of course,_ his thoughts informed him. _How could you do anything else?_

But, these past weeks, he had grown so used to her simply _being there, with him_, that he could not quite picture his life as it had been. True enough, drow tended to care little for monogamy, but he could not imagine spending a night in the bed of any other female, and the idea of her giving herself to any other male made him bristle angrily in a way he had never before been aware of.

"I want to stay here," he said quietly. "I mean…maybe not right here, in Waterdeep, but here, on the surface." Sunlight lanced through a gap in the clouds, and he blinked. He was still not used to daytime brightness, despite Jaiyan dragging both him and the Seer outside at dawn and making them stand there and take it until they stopped wincing.

What was it the surfacer girl had said to his protests that the sunlight made him feel like he was being blinded? _You'll never know if you don't try it_. So, slowly, and carefully, and with much shielding of eyes and grimacing, they had withstood the harshness and even seen the occasional noon. Everything seemed stripped and bright under full sunlight, edges sharper and lines fiercer, with shadows chased away.

"I think," he continued, "I think…maybe I would like to see more of the surface."

The Seer smiled. "Then, if you will have me, I would be pleased to see it with you."

He wrapped his arms around her, held her against him for a breathless, wondering moment. "I thought you might want to go back down."

"To the Underdark?" She shook her head. "No. Not without you."

He glanced at her face, saw the permission implicit in her smile, and kissed her. "Where would we go?"

"I have no idea," she said, laughing. "Maybe…I don't know. Would you like to stay here a while?"

"At least until I can manage a whole day without having to rush inside and hide in the nearest shadow." Imloth tipped his head back, squinted through the rain. "Have you ever seen snow?"

"No, never," she answered.

He had heard Valen speak of Cania, and Durnan grumble about bitter winters, and Jaiyan had mentioned Hilltop, and the snow that blanketed rocks and trees and grass. Frozen water, dropping out of the sky; he could not quite imagine it properly, and he wondered if it truly was as damp and slushy as Durnan promised.

"It wouldn't be easy," the Seer said, softly. "Living on the surface. Here or anywhere."

"I know." Imloth feathered his hands through her hair and wondered how long she would stay with him. He traced the steep angle of her cheekbone thoughtfully. _She is gifted with visions by Eilistraee, and once led a city and inspired rebellion. Why would she stay with you?_

"Imloth?"

Her fingers brushed his chin, and he flinched. He looked down into her white-lashed eyes. "Yes?"

"You looked troubled."

"I…" The words died in his throat. "Will…will you always want me with you?"

She laughed gently. "That worries you?"

"Will you?"

She leaned in, kissed his cheek. "Always, foolish male."

Beyond them, the newly-risen sun hovered behind a wreath of cloud. The edges of rooftops and domes were bright, and the river shone. The air was cold, bitten with the promise of snow, and the wind snapped Imloth's hair against his face.

"Imloth?"

He gathered her closer, rubbed the side of his face against her rain-damp hair. She smelled of soap and lavender, and an unusual, fresh scent that, Jaiyan had informed him upon commenting, was not unlike cut grass. "Yes?"

"I think we should prepare for farewells."

"Ours?" When she shook her head, he asked, "Have you seen something?"

"No," she said. "Not properly. Just…a feeling."

Imloth fell silent, leaned his cheek against the crown of her head. He could feel her breathing gently against the side of his neck. He tried to remember how he had once felt in the Underdark, fleeing in terror from his mother and her priestesses, and realized that such bone-deep fear seemed an uncertain world away. Wordlessly, they sat and watched the rain, and the sun rising above.

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Five days later, Jaiyan sat at her favourite corner table, her feet unceremoniously propped up in front of her, and two empty tankards already beside her elbow. The fire blazed beneath the mantelpiece, and the wind billowing in whenever the door opened was brittle and smelled of snow. The last touches of twilight were fading outside. She leaned back against the wall and sighed. Her shoulders and arms throbbed from an afternoon spent briskly sparring with Imloth while Valen looked on and barked orders and criticism.

They had tried practicing with each other, she remembered wryly, the tiefling with a quarterstaff again and herself with a sword. But since sparring required close quarters and exertion, they rarely lasted through a short routine before dragging each other back upstairs. With much pouting, she had given in to his suggestion that she trade blows with Imloth for now.

She glanced down into her half-finished drink and smirked. The first time they had tried swapping sword-strokes in the courtyard, Valen had snapped her blade to one side and had her pressed up against the wall with three quick movements. _Not that you were really defending yourself properly. Still, it made for a very…energetic afternoon_.

She had left him outside with Imloth, the two of them arguing about whether or not to continue on with archery or swordplay.

A small, skinny bundle of energy darted across the room and hopped up onto the bench opposite her. "Boss!"

She grinned at Deekin and the armload of parchment in his arms. "Deeks, how are you?"

"Deekin be fine." He dumped his notes on the table. "Goat-man be beating up drow?"

"Yes." She glanced across the taproom, gestured to Durnan. "I was wondering…do you have time to talk?"

"Deekin always have time to talk."

Durnan wove his way through the tables, balancing a tray. "Yes, slave mistress?"

She grinned at him. "Deeks, do you want a drink?"

When the little kobold nodded, the innkeeper sighed and placed a tankard in front of him, along with another one for Jaiyan. "So you don't bother me again too soon."

She looked past him, to where a group of city guards huddled around plates of steaming meat and potatoes. Other patrons were dotted around the taproom, along with a handful of drow, and she noticed that the tiredness had vanished from Durnan's face at last. "Happy being an innkeeper again?"

"Missy, you have no idea." He sighed. "Tell you truly, I loved those days I spent charging around after orcs and crawling through muddy tunnels for a handful of coin, but I have to admit, I'm not young anymore. And an arch-devil sure as the hells isn't a bunch of half-drunk angry orcs."

"No," she said, quietly. Still, so many weeks later, Mephistopheles haunted her dreams, brought her jolting awake too often. She saw the Valsharess as well, on her knees and begging, eyes rolling up as her throat was cut. Some nights she saw the Reaper, and Valen on the ground before her, a bolt lodged beneath his collarbone and blood leaking down his chin.

The worst dreams were of Cania, though, and the unending cold. _And Valen, his eyes burning red and nothing but hatred on his lips. _She recalled the way his hands had bitten against her shoulders when he pinioned her, and how the demon in his blood had turned his voice dark and full of loathing. _How his teeth had broken her skin, and how he had lapped at her blood, and promised that he would hurt her._

"Missy? You alright?"

She jerked herself free of her thoughts and smiled shakily. "I'm fine. Sorry, Durnan. I'm keeping you from pressing duties, I'm sure."

He snorted. "Yes, ferrying ale around is far more difficult than trying to figure out how to bring down an arch-devil."

He marched away with a wry grin, and Jaiyan turned her attention back to Deekin.

He was observing her through piercing black eyes. "Boss be thinking about snows and Cania."

"Yes." She shifted. "How did you know?"

"Nothing else scares Boss like that."

"Hah." She lifted the tankard, drank. "Not even Undrentide?"

"Nope. Boss say Undrentide just lump of floating rock that was going to fall out of the sky if we didn't go and introduce medusa lady to sharp end of sword."

She laughed. "Did I really say that?"

"Yep." Deekin wrapped small hands around his own drink. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

"Deekin wonders….what Boss wants to do next?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. And she did not; but the familiar prickling ran along her shoulders. She knew that Waterdeep would not hold her interest much longer, and she wondered where Valen might like to go, or what he might like to do. "I think I want to travel again, though. What do you think?"

"Well…Deekin not minds where Boss goes, as long as Deekin goes."

Jaiyan laughed, but her throat felt unaccountably thick. "Of course you will."

"Goat-man not minds?"

"No, he doesn't."

"Boss?"

"Mmm?"

"Does Boss remember, in Cania…?"

Of course she did. She remembered Deekin, quietly steadfast amid the chaos, always sensible and always _knowing_. The fear of Valen's infernal blood and the uncertainty of the Sensei's quest had nearly broken her, she knew. _But he had always been there, always accepting, and always unfaltering. _"Yes…you were so…unafraid."

"Nope. Deekin be scared of lots of things. Goat-man in bad mood. Demons. That Cania go on for ever."

She nodded silently. "Do you have anywhere you want to go?"

He shrugged, rustling his wings. "No. Not really. But maybe…not somewhere too cold?"

She laughed and raised her tankard. "I'll drink to that."

"Boss drink to anything."

"Well, yes."

Jaiyan looked up at the sound of footsteps, smiled as she saw Valen emerge from the archway at the back of the room. He was clad in his green armour, and she noticed the city guards giving him slightly wary glances. He collected a drink from Durnan on his way across and unslung his flail before sitting beside her. He propped Devil's Bane against the table, and Jaiyan giggled. "Did you and Imloth have fun hitting each other?"

He arched a scarlet eyebrow. "Yes."

"Good." She studied him, saw that his hair was damp, noticed that he smelled of armour polish and weapon oil, leather and sweat. "We were just talking…Valen, how long did you want to stay here?"

He shrugged. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I wouldn't mind wandering."

Valen smiled. "And where would my lady care to go?"

"I don't know. I never plan ahead."

The evening wore on, and more rain sluiced against the windows. Imloth and the Seer joined them, and Jaiyan noticed the drow limping slightly. "You didn't get that sparring with my tiefling, did you?"

Imloth sat next to Deekin, the Seer on his other side. He shifted gingerly against the bench. "Ah…yes, actually."

"I'm beginning to wonder if you two sparring isn't cruel," Jaiyan said lightly. She shot Valen an arch look. "You've got to be about three times his weight."

"Two, maybe," the tiefling muttered.

She pushed drinks across to the two drow, and did not miss the Seer's shrewd glance in Valen's direction. "We were thinking…"

The Seer looked at her, luminous eyes wide. "Yes?"

"We were thinking…of maybe travelling on. Somewhere. Not sure where."

The Seer smiled. "I thought so."

Jaiyan scowled. "Of course you did. Is there nothing you don't foresee?"

"Very little," the drow woman answered, slightly impish. "Where might you go?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Somewhere warm, hopefully."

Deekin nodded. "Yep. Deekin not likes snow anymore."

The inn door was flung open, and wind and rain howled in. A lone man staggered in, dripping onto the rug and trembling. He stumbled over to the bar, and Durnan beckoned him closer. Jaiyan looked past Imloth's narrow shoulder, saw the man hand Durnan a crumpled sheaf of parchment, half-soaked. The innkeeper found the new arrival a drink, and called for Mhaere and blankets and spare clothes.

Valen's hand on her forearm startled her. "Did someone say something?"

He laughed. "Yes. I said I would be accompanying you wherever we might go."

"Oh." She bit her lip, vaguely embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I forgive you, I promise." He squeezed her hand.

At the bar, the man closed his hands around a tankard. Durnan unpeeled the letter and read. Jaiyan found her eyes drifting again. "Wonder what that's all about?"

Valen shrugged. "If it's anything to do with dragons, dracoliches, or arch-devils, I say we pretend we know nothing."

She leaned against his shoulder, felt the familiar weight of his arms settle around her. "Coward."

He glared good-naturedly at her. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Durnan ambled over to the table, a pensive frown on his face and the letter crumpled in his hand. He paused, gave Jaiyan a raking stare, and said, "That young man, there. Just come up from the Greypeak Mountains."

"That be east, Boss," Deekin supplied.

"Says they got a problem. Says he was sent up looking for the heroes of Waterdeep."

Jaiyan smirked. "And that's us, is it?"

The innkeeper shrugged. "Says there's monsters needing to be fought back."

"Oh, really? Last time I heard that, I was told gibberlings and got worgs and trolls."

Durnan sighed. "You going to hear me out or not, missy?"

She gulped at her drink. "Sorry."

"There's monsters in the Greypeaks, and somehow word of what happened here has already worked its way down the coast." Durnan shrugged. "Farms and families threatened, apparently, and not an arch-devil in sight."

"They always say that," Jaiyan muttered.

"Well?" Durnan raised his eyebrows. "What say you, missy?"

Jaiyan exchanged a long, thoughtful glance with Deekin and Valen. "Tell him we'll think about it."


	56. Chapter 56

_So, here it is, the very last chapter. I apologise for the delay in posting it - but between real life (hideously hectic at work, ugh), and the general is-it-alright-ness-feeling of the last chapter, I decided it would probably be better to wait and post it when I was happy with it. So an absolutely huge thank-you to everyone who's been reading, reviewing and generally supporting this. It turned out a lot longer than I originally thought (440 pages on my computer, urk!) and it was great fun to write. The characters certainly have some future to them, but I'm not sure exactly what that will be - I have a few ideas, so we'll see where that goes. _

_**Chapter Fifty-Six – And Beginnings**_

Morning broke over Waterdeep, clear and crisp. Frost rimed the cobbles in the yard behind The Yawning Portal, and the water trough was sheathed with ice. Inside, the fire was already burning, and the kitchen wreathed with steam where Jaiyan stood at the table. While Deekin perched on the windowsill and offered advice, she wrapped salted ham and fresh bread and hard biscuit.

She had scrounged a new set of shirts and leggings from Mhaere, and, three days before, had hauled Valen off into the city to find him clothes other than his armour, the faded garments beneath, or the patched training leathers from Lith My'athar. When he muttered that he never before had felt the need to cart around an entire wardrobe, she promptly informed him she was tired of cuddling up to his breastplate and preferred the idea of him in clothes that did not smell only of armour polish.

Two more days of quiet preparations had followed after packing the messenger back off to the Greypeaks on his post-horse along with promises to head off along the east road as quickly as planning would allow.

So now, trying to work out how best to fit a slab of cheese alongside a pair of folded shirts and her much-battered sewing gear, Jaiyan felt strange.

There was always an odd feeling of let-down, of emptiness, following any kind of victory, she knew. She had felt the same after Heurodis had died, and even when she had been younger, and her first group of goblins had fallen beneath her sword. And of course, after Undrentide had been sent back beneath the shifting sands, when she and Deekin had wasted enough time in Waterdeep, and had parted. He had wanted to stay, and she had wanted to continue on, and she had been foolish enough to follow her own impatience, and leave him.

_If he ever knew how you missed him. How you stared into the fire, wishing he was there, to talk to, to listen. To hear his songs, and ask him what he thought of your latest hare-brained venture. _

_Except this time,_ she thought, _you're not going to do that._

"Boss?"

"Yes, Deeks?"

"Maybe good if Boss not put apples there. Apples hard and dig into shoulders."

She stared into the already over-strained pack. "You might be right."

"Deekin always right."

After wrestling with the pack and contents a moment longer, she sighed and gave up. "How did I manage this last time?"

Deekin shrugged. "Deekin thinks Boss not bother with things like apples."

"Probably." Footsteps rang in the doorway, and she turned away from the table in time to see Durnan. "I stole that salted ham I found in the storeroom, by the way."

He grunted. "Proclivity of the hero, is it?"

She grinned. "Something like that."

The innkeeper held out a bottle, one eyebrow arched. "Here. And take it before I change my mind."

"Ooh, is this the good stuff?"

When she reached out, he did not let go, and gave her a level glare. "This, missy, is the _best_ stuff. Only to be drank when all other options have been previously done away with."

She lifted the brandy bottle up to the light, tilted it. "Nice colour. Does it have a kick to it?"

"Could wake up a dead carthorse. Enjoy it." Durnan sighed. "You off this morning?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, we are."

"You be sure to let me know before you do."

"Course I will." She summoned another grin, but it felt somehow brittle. "Did Imloth talk to you?"

Durnan snorted and folded his arms. "Damn right he did. Seems they're intent on staying put right here and not going anywhere. Thought I'd be getting rid of them all, but it turns out them two are sticking right here. Darklings, in _my_ tavern."

Jaiyan giggled at his affronted expression. "You like him."

The innkeeper grunted again. "You see the others off?"

"Yes." Some few days past, she and the Seer, Imloth, Valen and Deekin had all gathered in the portal room. There, Nathyrra had bid them a quiet, somehow sombre farewell before leading the rest of the drow back down.

She remembered the Seer's face, serene and patient. 

_"And where will you go?"_

_Nathyrra shrugged. "We're not sure, Seer. Perhaps…perhaps we will see what has become of Lith My'athar. Perhaps…we could rebuild."_

_The Seer smiled. "A worthy goal, I think."_

_"Do you…" Nathyrra chewed on her lower lip. "Do you see what will happen?"_

_The Seer closed her eyes. "I see peace," she answered. "That is all."_

_Nathyrra laughed unsteadily. "I was hoping you'd say we'll all be fine, we'll all live, and Lith My'athar will be rebuilt within the month."_

_"You know such things are not so simple, or easy."_

_"Of course. Seer?"_

_The drow woman nodded. "Yes?"_

_"You…" Nathyrra swallowed, and Jaiyan thought she saw tears in those crimson eyes. "You did so much for us. Thank you." _

_Very gently, the Seer touched Nathyrra's braided-back hair. "Perhaps. But _you_ came to _me_. And for that, I must thank you." _

_Nathyrra shrugged again, and the drow behind her shuffled awkwardly. Her gaze slipped past the Seer, fell on Imloth. "You're staying here."_

_"Yes."_

_"You're mad." She smiled. "You know what happens to renegade drow on the surface?"_

_"Anything worse than what happens to renegade drow in the Underdark?"_

_"Perhaps not." Nathyrra gave him a level, raking stare. "Last chance, male. Want to come back with us?"_

_"You know I don't," Imloth said mildly. _

_"I know. You're our best archer, though. I felt I had to at least ask." She straightened up, checked the hilt of her daggers. Regarding her, Jaiyan recognized the uncomfortable movements of someone trying to dawdle but not quite sure how to go about it. "You'll take care of her."_

_Imloth smiled. "That wasn't a question."_

_"No. It was an order." Nathyrra raised her hand, looked for a moment if she was about to touch him. She changed her mind, dropped her hand, and turned to Jaiyan. "Surfacer?"_

_Jaiyan smirked. "Drow?"_

_"Very funny. Do you remember the day we met?"_

_"Do I ever. I nearly gutted you when you emerged out of the darkness like that."_

_Nathyrra arched a thin white eyebrow. "I'd've had the sword out of your hands in half a heartbeat. You know that, don't you?"_

_Jaiyan laughed. "Probably. But then Deekin would've shot you." Past her shoulder, she noticed Imloth exchange a wry look with Valen. "Sorry. You wanted to say something?"_

_"Yes." Nathyrra tilted her head. "You…helped us. I never expected you to. Not like you did. I mean, you're a surfacer…"_

_She nodded slowly. "Thank you." _

_After that, there were more words, quickly exchanged, and Valen shifted the portal cover to one side. The drow spilled down the steps and towards the platform, and Nathyrra barked out a swift command to two of her soldiers. The ropes creaked, and Jaiyan heard the platform descend into the blank darkness below. She remembered her own journey down into the tunnels beneath, with Deekin at her side and no idea of what exactly they were getting themselves into. _

"Missy? You alive in there?"

She blinked, dragged her thoughts away from farewells and the memory of Nathyrra's face, softened in the lights of the portal room. "Sorry. Just thinking."

Durnan nodded slowly. "Strange, where life takes us, isn't it?" He coughed. "Tell me. Will you and your young man come back and visit us?"

"Count on it," she said lightly. "And we'll probably be out of money, utterly destitute, and you'll have to take mercy on us."

"Doesn't sound so different." Durnan gave her a knowing grin. "Alright. There's too much to do already today. But let me know before you leave, you hear? That's one farewell you're not getting out of."

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Valen sat in the armoury, his flail braced across his knees and a cloth in one hand. With his tail absently snapping in time, he polished the haft. The twin spiked heads already gleamed, and his armour waited, propped up against the wall. He watched the cloth move past a new slice on the haft, courtesy of Cania. He stared at the shallow gash for a long, uncomfortable moment.

He shook himself free of his thoughts and grimaced. _Are you really going to haul all that around in your head along with everything else? Aren't you haunted by enough? _

_Mephistopheles is dead. Cania is done. No city to protect, no drow to save. _

"Valen?"

He turned, saw the Seer watching him through those shrewd, pale eyes.

"Are you busy?"

"No. Just finishing." He laid the flail beside him, motioned her in. "Seer, I…"

She sat opposite him, gathered her robes around her ankles. "Yes?"

"I don't know what to say."

One side of her mouth quirked up. "_Farewell_ will suffice. Or _thank you_. Maybe even _I'll miss you_."

He grinned. "And I always thought a sense of humour was a dangerous thing for a drow to have."

"You are leaving," she said, softly. "And you are worried that I will see this as some kind of betrayal."

As always, her words and her gaze cut him to the core. "Yes," he muttered.

"It is no betrayal, Valen."

"But I…"

"Do you wish to travel? With Jaiyan? Do you wish to see the world?"

He nodded heavily. "Yes, but…"

"Then it is no betrayal." The Seer clasped her hands together. "Valen, the Valsharess is dead. The arch-devil is dead. You have returned, alive and whole, from the most terrible of ordeals. You wish to leave and travel with the woman you love. _It is_ _no betrayal_. Valen, there was never any debt between us."

He lifted his gaze from the floor, met hers. He _knew_ she was right, _knew_ the twisting concern in his chest was ridiculous at best. And yet, she had _saved_ him, given him a haven away from Grimash't and Sigil and the Blood Wars. "I know," he said, quietly. "I will miss you."

She smiled. "And I, you."

"Do you see…will we see you again?"

She raised one white eyebrow. "Oh…I think you might."

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The sun was climbing high by the time they assembled outside The Yawning Portal. _Two drow, a tiefling, a kobold, and two normal mortals_, Jaiyan thought wryly. _Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke_. She glanced past Durnan's shoulder and wondered what the merchants wandering down the street to the mid-morning markets thought.

She generally disliked farewells. _Probably_, she thought, _because I rarely get to make them properly_. Her sister had run away without once sharing her plan; she herself had vanished into the snowy forest at the urging of her mother. Drogan had died; she and Deekin had hightailed it for the desert without the chance to pause and thank Dorna or even Xanos. So now, standing and watching while Valen shared a quiet good-bye with the two drow, she felt awkward. The Seer leaned up, touched the tiefling's cheek, and she saw him shudder.

Horribly aware her throat was closing up, Jaiyan grinned across at Imloth. "Have fun on the surface. Maybe we'll come back this way and check up on you. See how you're managing."

"See if we've managed to get ourselves stoned to death by a group of angry surfacers, you mean?"

She scowled at him. "Not a funny joke, Imloth." Before he could protest, she wrapped her arms around his narrow shoulders and tugged him into a quick embrace. "Thank you," she muttered into his ear.

He stared at her, entirely bewildered. "For what?"

She shrugged. "Staying alive." While he smiled and then laughed at her, she turned to the Seer and subjected her to the same kind of suffocating, brisk hug. "You know, when I first came to Lith My'athar, I wasn't exactly…oh, I don't even know what I'm saying. I wasn't the most…amenable. To what you told me."

The drow woman smiled. "You need ask forgiveness for nothing."

She nodded, a little self-consciously, and swung her gaze to Durnan. Solid as old oak, the innkeeper stood with his arms folded and a frown on his lined face. "You going to look after these two, then?"

Durnan snorted and glared at the two drow. "Well, somebody has to. Can't be letting darklings roam around getting themselves into trouble before they know how the surface works, can I?"

Jaiyan grinned. "Take care of yourself, old man."

Durnan pulled her against his chest, hugged her roughly. "Not that old yet, missy."

They lingered a while longer, exchanging promises to see each other again, and vowing to remain alive long enough to do so. Eventually, after Durnan stamped away muttering something about foolhardy adventurers cluttering up his doorway, they dragged themselves away. All the way down the street to the sharp corner, Jaiyan kept glancing back, saw Imloth gather the Seer against him as they watched.

Valen's arm slipped around her waist, and she glanced up, saw that his blue eyes were soft and a little too bright. "Do you think they'll be alright?"

"She's a priestess, and he's a soldier," the tiefling answered. "Eilistraee gifts her with visions, and he's one of the best fighters I've ever seen."

"Yes, but…they're so short."

Valen laughed. "So are you."

She pouted at him. "Yes, but they're _drow_. On the surface."

"They'll be fine," he said firmly. "Besides, Durnan will watch out for them."

She sighed and nodded. "I suppose."

She leaned against him as they cleared the corner. The street opened up, filled with the colour and noise of merchant stalls and traders shouting prices. Fluttering silks held up for comparison, perfume and oils, weapons and jewels. Jaiyan stared, and remembered Mephistopheles, striding between the tumbled ruins of pillars and buildings. They followed the wide avenues that tracked between the temples, and finally out through the open gates, and onto the open road beyond.

Wind scoured down from the north, chill and fierce, and Jaiyan huddled closer into her cape. The wide, wheel-rutted trail stretched away before her, littered with high crags further up, and empty. _Seems a long time since I rode down here,_ she thought. _With a handful of coin and a vague message about danger. _She turned, stared for a long moment at the walls and spires behind.

"My love?" Valen's fingers brushed across her hair. "Are you alright?"

She tore her gaze away from the city and nodded. She drew in a deep breath that tasted of cold and pine needles. "Yes," she said, and found that it was true. "Yes, I am." She looked from Valen to Deekin and back again. "Let's go."

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They wove an easy, unhurried path east, across rolling flatlands until they skirted the lowest edge of High Forest. The weather stayed mostly clear, with the nights brittle and cold and beautiful. Mornings brought a covering of frost, and the bitter pinch of late autumn, and much complaining from Jaiyan when she stumbled out of the tent just after dawn. Any semblance of a proper path vanished from the dark loam, and she found herself relying on old memories and Deekin's guesses. Still, she knew roughly where the Greypeaks lay, and was not about to consider herself lost unless High Forest vanished and their destination seemed nowhere in sight.

Night closed over the dark tangle of trees above. They had retreated back into the forest itself, away from the open flatlands once the sun had sunk beneath a cloudy horizon. The branches creaked above, and she heard the soft sound of an owl, calling somewhere close by. Deekin lay curled beside the fire, his nose buried in his notes, and a quill clamped in his hand.

Beside her, Valen sat with supper forgotten beside his knee. His gaze was pinned on the rustling motion of the trees, and barely moved, except to flit to the rising stars above.

She studied his face sidelong, and smiled at his wondering, wide-eyed look. "Valen?"

He jumped. "Did you say something?"

"No. Are you alright?"

He nodded, and his gaze slipped back to the whorled knots of roots, tangled around the base of an old ash. "It's…the last time I was up here, I didn't…notice much."

She remembered how he had spoken of fleeing from Sigil, and arriving half-blind with fear and rage, and knowing only that he had to find the Seer and Lith My'athar. He had killed Grimash't in a forest, she recalled, sent the demon to his death amid falling rain and anger. "Do you like it?"

"It's…so different. So unlike Sigil. The trees, the wind…everything makes such soft sounds."

"Yes." She found her gaze wandering across a clump of ferns, and up to the broad arch of the branches above. She had noticed him, the past two days, pausing mid-walk to stare at moss and rocks, and small, twining streams. She had gently mocked him, and had been rewarded with teasing kisses and laughter. The feel of damp earth beneath his feet seemed to fascinate him, and she had caught him more than once crouched down and with his gloves off, simply touching the ground. The morning past, she had discovered him running a cluster of tiny white flowers over his fingers. When the name of the hardy, pale flower escaped her, she told him that it bloomed until just before the very depths of winter.

Much later, Jaiyan curled against the warmth of his broad, bare back. Sleeping in a tent again seemed strange, after wasting so much time in Waterdeep. The canvass walls thrummed with the wind, and she could hear the trees creaking outside. The small magelight borrowed from Deekin threw faint light over the edges of their blankets and weapons and turned Valen's hair a deep crimson.

Idly tracing the patterns of old scars on his shoulders, she realized the odd, empty feeling had given way. Despite the needling sadness at leaving the tavern, at leaving Durnan, and Imloth, and the Seer, she felt the familiar prickle of anticipation. They would find the Greypeaks, and kill the monsters, and the road would lead them on.

_To wherever,_ she thought lazily. Something she recognized as excitement fluttered along her spine. _We can go anywhere. Just nowhere too cold. Can't be doing with too much cold anymore. _

Valen muttered something and turned over. His tail slipped around her waist, and his eyelids flickered. "Is it my watch?"

"No. Not yet."

His eyes opened properly, deep and wide in the half-light. "I can't sleep."

"No." She smiled. "It's the wind."

He listened as the branches rattled, and something barked, not far away. "What was that?"

"A fox," she said.

"What's that?"

She laughed at his curious expression. "Imagine a very small, skinny wolf-like creature. But orange all over."

"Orange?"

"Rust-coloured, I suppose." She feathered her fingers through his loose hair. "After we charge in like heroes and kill every monster we can lay eyes on, what do you want to do afterwards?"

He shrugged slowly. "I have no idea."

"Me neither." For a long, quiet moment, she lay against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. "Valen?"

"Mmm?"

"I can't sleep either."

He grinned. "Well, I wonder how we could pass the time?"

She leaned in and kissed him. "Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something."

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Jaiyan woke to the soft rustling of leaves, and the sound of footsteps. She turned over, expecting to roll up against Valen's shoulder, and snarled when she flopped onto empty blankets instead. Muttering to herself, she dragged her clothes on, fumbled with her bootlaces, and staggered out into the brisk chill of an autumn morning. She discovered Deekin poring over a map, and the tiefling studiously cleaning his armour. Steam rose from the bowl of porridge hanging over the fire, and her stomach growled.

She dug in one of the packs, found bowls and spoons. "Are we lost yet, Deeks?"

"Nope. We be maybe a few days away."

"Oh." She dished out the porridge, called across to Valen. "Hey, tiefling. Stop picking imaginary bits of dust off your armour and have breakfast."

He rolled his eyes at her. "You're charming in the morning."

"And sometimes I think you love that armour more than you love me."

He snorted. "That armour keeps me safe."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And don't I do that?"

Valen groaned and accepted the first bowl of porridge. "Why do I get the feeling that whatever I say will be wrong?"

She laughed at his affronted expression. They mopped up the porridge with the last of the bread brought from Waterdeep, and were back out onto the flatlands before the sun burned away the coils of early-morning mist. Valen set the pace, and Jaiyan found herself half-jogging to keep up. After being reminded that his stride was by far the widest, he blushed and slowed down.

Through an easy day's hike, the landscape unraveled towards a grey, soft horizon. The forest fell away behind, and mountains rose up out of the haze. Jaiyan walked between Valen and Deekin, and occasionally slipped her hand into the tiefling's, and smiled when she felt him squeeze her fingers.

Her mind drifted back to the terrible night she had fled her home and her family, with her mother's wrenching words pounding in her head, and the new set of leathers creaking around her shoulders. The frightened, desperate child she had been then had bolted without thought, and even now, the recollection of that journey turned her skin cold.

"My love?"

She flinched slightly, and looked up into Valen's clear blue eyes. "Oh…sorry."

"Don't be." His lips touched her forehead. "Did you want to think about setting up camp?"

The evening turned chill and damp with creeping mist. Jaiyan helped Valen with the tent, and laughed at his frustration with the way the wind plucked the canvass away from his hands. He muttered something about being too used to the Underdark, and its silent, dead air, and helped her tether the left side of the tent.

Behind a high stand of granite, while the wind howled down from the heights, Deekin coaxed a small fire into life. The flames tugged and snapped, spilling more smoke than heat. The little kobold glared at the sputtering sticks. "Deekin not like this."

Jaiyan crouched opposite. "Not much luck?"

He snorted. "Nope. And Deekin had those rabbits from before."

She remembered the half-morning spent trapping a trio of rabbits, and her promise to Valen to show him how rabbit stew was made. "There's enough salted ham."

"Deekin supposes." He glared at the bundle of sticks as the flames glowed briefly and died.

The wind screamed down, and the high, thin grass rippled. Looking thoughtful, Jaiyan settled herself in front of Valen. When he did not move, she tapped his knees until he shifted, and she sank between them, her back cleaving to his chest. He laughed softly, draped his arms around his waist. "My lady is pleased?"

"Mmm. Very." She shivered when he kissed the side of her neck. "Deeks, did you try a spell?"

"Yes. Deekin try two spells now. Wind too fast." Deekin gestured at the rising peaks ahead. "Not enough to stop the wind."

He frowned down at the blackened sticks, and Jaiyan suppressed the sudden urge to giggle. "Deeks, don't worry about it. We've survived without a fire before."

"Yep, but Deekin remembers Cania, and Boss in Cania getting cold."

Before she could protest, that everything was fine, and that she certainly was not going to keel over due to damp weather, he narrowed dark eyes at the sticks again. Magic crackled around him, sparking off the arch of his wings. His mouth opened, and Jaiyan stared bewildered at him as flames roared from between his teeth and engulfed the sticks.

The fire caught and held, and the sticks flared. Jaiyan dragged her gaze from the crackling fire to the kobold, and tried to work out whether he looked more surprised than she did. "Deekin?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Did you do that on purpose?"

"No, Boss." He touched his jaw and throat cautiously. "Deekin…just wanted to light fire."

She looked at the snapping, twining flames. "You certainly did that. How do you feel?"

Deekin patted at his neck. "Deekin's throat feel hot."

Jaiyan exchanged a quick glance with Valen. "Don't you dare come and breathe anywhere near me."

"Boss," the little bard said. "As if Deekin would."

"Well, just make sure you can control it before you breathe on me. I already got killed with fire once. I have no desire to repeat the experience."

Valen stirred, peered over her shoulder. His blue eyes were wry as he observed the kobold. "Well, at least we won't have to suffer cold meals."

"Goat-man thinks Deekin be like oven Goat-man can carry around?"

Valen shrugged, and one side of his mouth lifted. "At least it means you're useful."

Deekin yipped at him. "Deekin be very useful!"

"I know," the tiefling said wearily. "It was a joke."

"Oh." His wings rustled. "Deekin just…breathed fire. That be a little bit overwhelming, even for Deekin."

Jaiyan stretched her hands over the fire. "Well, it feels the same as any other fire." She grinned at the kobold. "Please tell me if you plan to immolate anything else, though, yes?"

Deekin narrowed dark eyes at her. "What if Deekin gets uncontrollable draconic urge to burn everything he can see? Dragons turn ground into smouldering wasteland to prove dragon-ness, Deekin notices. Old Master say he wanted to do that, but if he burned village, he not able to eat apple pie in mortal shape ever again."

Jaiyan frowned. Behind her, Valen was toying with the loose end of her braid, slipping his fingers through the strands. "Now you're making fun of me."

The little kobold blinked. "Boss," he said, in a tone she instantly recognized. "Boss should know by now. Deekin would _never_."


End file.
